


Return to the Obra Dinn

by MortNoire



Category: Return of the Obra Dinn (Video Game)
Genre: Homophobia, No Smut, Romance, Underage Drinking, everyone is alive and well (mostly), i take a tragedy and turn it into a comedy, spoilers for Return of the Obra Dinn (obviously), time travel stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortNoire/pseuds/MortNoire
Summary: The Obra Dinn washes up off the coast of Falmouth, and a young inspector gets sent out to investigate. Playing with forces far greater than himself lands Clarence Wint trapped in the past on a cursed voyage. To save himself, he must save everyone else.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Return

Back and forth, back and forth. An endless array of nauseating, rocking waves. The frigid winds, biting deep into his bones, and the splash of icy water on his cheeks like a kiss of death. Clarence wished nothing more than to go back home. Curse this damned job anyway! Everyone at the office was probably right when they said this ship was cursed!

"Ye should'a wore another layer, lad." Said the old mariner, whom Clarence failed to catch the name of, transporting him to the recently recovered vessel.

"Figured." He mumbled, hugging himself tighter.

"Aye. Well it'll probably be warmer in the Obra Dinn."

"Hope so."

The rowboat bumped gently up against the side of the large cargo ship. "Ey, thanks for the music. Yer a good player. Ye could perform in a theatre." The mariner said with a gruff laugh.

"Already do." Clarence muttered, the cold ocean dampening his mood as well as his clothes, until he remembered his manners. "Uh, thanks." He got up and grabbed the handle of his case, and looked up at the daunting ladder up the hull of the Obra Dinn.

"Eh? You're takin' that heavy thing with ye? Why?"

"I've got work stuff in there."

"How will you get it up, then?"

Clarence once again looked up at the trial before him. "I can manage." He slung the strap over his shoulder and stepped onto the first rung. He climbed slowly, doubt teetering on his mind as his numb, frozen fingers felt like they could slip at any moment. Only when his feet were on the deck of the Obra Dinn did he breathe a sigh of relief.

The mariner called up to him. "It'll only be harder gettin' down again. Why'd you bring your instrument with you anyway?"

"It was mostly for entertainment on the trainride from London and back!" Clarence turned away and looked around at the ship.

The Obra Dinn, the ship that vanished off the face of the Earth 5 years ago, only to wash up off the shore of Falmouth without a soul on board. As an insurance inspector, it was Clarence's job to figure out what happened here. Time to get to work! The fire in his soul was almost enough to warm up his frigid body, just for a moment. He plonked his case on the deck and opened it up. Inside, he gently pushed his accordion aside to access the items that had been packed for him. The leather-bound book, which he hadn't had a chance to look through yet, intrigued him. He opened it up to find a note from a Dr. Henry Evans. It didn't contain much useful information, except for one phrase that stood out to him. _"Use the pocketwatch."_ He took the forementioned pocketwatch in his hand and clicked it open. Then he looked up at the sky, the sun hanging low in the horizon. He didn't need a real pocketwatch to see that the time depicted on this one was incorrect... or following some other system that wasn't hour-based.

"The bloody hell is this for..?" He closed the watch again and stroked his thumb over the skull motif on the lid. He pocketted it and closed his case to go investigate the ship. As he gazed around, the first thing he noticed was that one of the masts had a slight lean to it. His eyes trailed down to the cause, a huge splinter, barely held together by bound rope. _A storm did that, perhaps?_ He browsed around the top deck. According to Dr. Evans' book, the ship had four levels, so Clarence intended to thoroughly investigate one deck at a time.

Finding nothing else of interest, he instead came to the captain's cabin, where he saw something that sent a chill worse than the cold weather through his body. On the floor lay scattered bones, undeniably human. Despite it being only bones, it was Clarence's first time ever laying eyes upon a corpse, and he couldn't deny the unease it made him feel. Still, he should have known to expect to see a corpse or two, considering the disappearing crew.

As he stared at the bones, trying to gleam any sort of information about how this person died, he felt a faint vibration in his pocket. He fished out the pocketwatch and flicked it open, curiously watching the hands spinning backwards, until his vision began to fade to black.

"Captain! Open the door!"

The unfamiliar voice startled Clarence out of his skin. He spun around and was met with two scowling faces. Stuck in the tight corridor, between two hostile men and a closed door, all Clarence could do was meekly put his hands up and back away.

"Kick it in!"

"Grr... lest we break it down, and take more than those shells."

Clarence couldn't get a word out as the two men continued to shout in his direction, he was frozen like a baby woodland deer, out of his element.

"You bastards may take... exactly what I give you!"

A third voice. Behind. The door flew open, and Clarence spun once more, staring at something much scarier than a couple of angry faces.

_**BANG.** _

...

...

Clarence went rigid. Eyes wide, seeing nothing but a puff of gunpowder in his face and the spark of ignition. He was certain he was dead, but after what felt like 5 minutes, he realised he could still move his hands. He backed up against the wall, out of the trail of the bullet. It settled in all too late that the scene before him was as frozen as he had been a moment ago. Was he dead? Was he a ghost?

He backed out of the corridor, eyes locked on the shirtless man with the gun. He turned slow, acting cautious, as if the statues might come to life once more and attack him, but as he turned, his stomach dropped.

If a corpse was already a lot for Clarence to handle, then this was more than he could bear. The man, the recipient of the bullet, with blood and brain splattering out from the back of his skull, locked in this horrendous death scene. Clarence looked away hastily, eyes blurring with tears. A creak drew his attention, and he saw a door, positioned impossibly in the middle of nowhere, leading to a inky black. He finally noticed that the world around him also seemed small, a creeping void coming in from all directions.

Clarence couldn't help but be reminded of a snow globe. Except, instead of festive cheer inside, a gruesome murder.

Eager to escape, Clarence went towards the only way he could, and delved into the inviting, dark door.

He blinked himself into consciousness again, standing before the bones like he had been moments ago. His brain needed a moment to catch up, but his stomach said there was no time, and he rushed to the railing and lost his dinner over the side.

"Gahah, seasickness finally gettin' ya, eh?" A familiar, gruff voice called out.

Clarence peered down at the mariner, still waiting in his dinky rowboat for him to be done with his job. He had nothing witty to say to him, and withdrew from his sight.

Despite still being shaken from what he had seen, Clarence now knew what the pocketwatch was for, and felt a resolve to put an end to the mystery of the Obra Dinn.

Perhaps... after sitting down for a moment...

\--------

How much time had gone by in the real world, perhaps one hour, perhaps 20 minutes. But for Clarence, hours. Hours upon hours. How many, Clarence couldn't say for sure. Not when the lines between reality and the past were so blurred. Not when the majority of his time had been spent in pockets of still time, examining the scenes of each death, trying to piece together the fragments of information he had. Thanks to the glossary that Dr. Evans had provided, as well as the sketches of the artist on board, Clarence could at least piece together pretty much everyone's job. It made narrowing down their identities easier... but not by much.

After the first few death scenes, Clarence had it down that he could stomach this job, but nothing could have prepared him for the true horror and tragedy that befell this crew. Each monster worse than the last, each death more horrific. The screams and squealches of the man torn in two by the kraken rang in his ears like the aftermath of a firing cannon. The faces, contorted in horror, the smouldering corpses of those caught in explosions, and god, the _smell_...!

Despite it all, Clarence dutifully began to fill the catalogue with everything he had uncovered. He had seen every death on this ship over and over by this point, and the events of the voyage were clear to him, but that didn't mean his job was done. Far from it, because he's an insurance inspector, and he needed to know the identities of everyone on board to be able to issue claims. Or at least the Chief would, the real Chief, once he handed over his metaphorical badge.

It shouldn't be that hard, should it? With a ship manned half as much as it should have been, and with so much information given to him, including the fantastical method of physically seeing people's deaths with his own eyes... and yet, here he was, still crossing out names and re-entering and crossing them out again. Any attempt to keep the book neat and tidy were long thrown out of the porthole. No matter how much information he crammed on the page; the transcripts, the faces of the deceased, even sketches of the death scene as detailed as he could manage, nothing seemed to help him attach a name to many of the faces he had seen.

How was he supposed to figure out which mate was which? Which Peters brother is which, and which woman was Emily Jackson and which was Jane Bird? And who was that man with the beanie who seemed to follow him like a damn spectre in every single scene?!

"Stupid..."

Clarence gritted his teeth, knuckles white as he gripped his pen.

"Stupid... useless... damn thing!" He snapped. He glared down at the Memento Mortem, the gleaming, silver skull staring right back at him. He sprung to his feet. "It's not fair! Why! Why'd they have to die?! They didn't deserve this- they, they did nothing!"

A trembling hand raised the pocketwatch up.

"Useless thing! What's the point of going to the past if I can't do anything to stop it all?!" He shrieked.

His breath hitches, in, out, in, out, then exhaling slow. He'd never throw the watch, it's far too priceless of an artefact.

Suddenly, the Memento Mortem began to vibrate in his hand. He looked at it in confusion. Somehow, it felt different than the usual tremble. It felt aggressive. Curious, and a bit concerned, Clarence opened the watch. Darkness engulfed his vision.

"Make way, coming through."

It took only one sentence for Clarence to recognise the scene. He'd been here a few times, although admittedly, not nearly as much as the other scenes. He glanced around, confused. Why was he here? He wasn't even near the-

"Orlop stern, 'neath the tiller."

-the corpse... Why..?

"Who the hell are you?"

This made all of Clarence's thought processes grind to a halt. That wasn't part of the scene. He stared at the seamen, who stared right back at him. Clarence glanced over his shoulder, and back, but that man was definitely looking right at him.

Was he- no, yes? It couldn't, he couldn't, could he?

"Hoist away!"

Clarence darted.

Body acting on its own, no thoughts in his head.

He sprinted towards the Peters brother, who began to turn in the direction of the footsteps. The man let out a grunt as Clarence barrelled into him. Despite being significantly smaller in all aspects, anyone being taken by surprise would be knocked back, and Clarence slammed him right against the hull. With his body pressed up against Mr. Peters, he looked up at him, only to see a snarl and a raising fist. Eyes wide, he backed away, raising his hands and shutting his eyes tight.

A mere pace behind him was a mighty crash. Heavy barrels thunked about, knocked loose from the crate after the fall.

Clarence slowly opened his eyes again. The pumelling never came. The Peters brother was wide-eyed. Clarence turned back at the fallen cargo.

"Shit!" Clarence heard from someone.

"Hoy! Anyone hurt down there!" A voice from an upper deck called.

Clarence backed up against the wall. "What... have I done..."

"Bloody hell..." said another voice.

"I can't do anything..."

"We're fine! Nobody's hurt!"

"I'm going to die here..."

"Great job, Lars!"

A cacophony of voices, but it was all starting to fade. Clarence could only stare at the ground, whole body trembling. He was truly here, for real. In the past. On a doomed voyage. In which he knew (almost) everyone dies.

He finally understood the difference between horror and terror.

"Alright, alright, shut it, nobody got hurt at least. Get down there and sort out that mess."

Clarence suddenly snapped out of his daze. _'Nobody got hurt'_ echoed in his mind. He dashed out towards one of the barrels. "Hello? Sir? Are you alright?" He cried.

"What the fuck?"

"Who is that?"

"Fetch the captain." Someone let out an irritated sigh.

Clarence ignored the confusion from the upper decks and pried the barrel open. A limp arm fell out, and the _drip, drip, drip_ of blood.

"Sir? Hello??" Clarence tried, and he dragged the stowaway out onto the floor. The man's skull was bleeding, and he was unresponsive. Trembling, Clarence did the only thing he could think of, and pressed his palms against the bleeding wound.

"Someone get the surgeon! Dr. Evans!!" He shrieked.

One of the crewmates ran off, while the others only looked on at the scene with bewilderment. Clarence kept talking to the stowaway, desperately trying to illicit any sort of response. His tunnel vision on the man below him was so set that he didn't notice the surgeon arrive until he grabbed his shoulder and almost scared the soul right out of him.

"Step aside, I'll take it from here." said Henry Evans. Clarence stumbled away, and Dr. Evans took his place, examining the wound.

The warm blood on his hands made Clarence feel sick. Stress overtook him, and he could only sob, staring at the red soaking his hands and sleeves.

"Is he gonna be alright?" asked the surgeon's mate, James Wallace.

"I think he's already gone." Dr. Evans responded solemnly. "Unlucky sod. Didn't even get to set sail." He stood and wiped his hands on his apron, then turned towards Clarence, who had started to dry heave.

"Someone take the boy to the captain. Alex?"

The nearby seaman nodded and grabbed Clarence's arm.

"Ey, wipe your hands." Dr. Evans tossed over a rag. Despite hitting Clarence square in the chest, he barely reacted fast enough to catch it. Alexander Booth took him away, and Clarence had nothing left in him to struggle and allowed himself to be dragged up to the top deck, where he was presented to the captain.

"We got a stowaway, sir."

Captain Robert Witterel turned and crossed his arms. Clarence peered back at him, eyes watery.

"He's just a kid. Stupid stowaway, probably thought he'd be off on an adventure, didn't you?" Witterel shook his head. "Luckily we didn't set sail. Kick him off. Lars, double-check the cargo for any more stowaways!"

It would have been an easy letting-off, but Clarence felt his blood run colder than the blood drying on his hands. Kicked off? At Falmouth? What was he supposed to do, where was he supposed to go? He was stuck 5 years in the past! Was the train to London even built yet? What would he even find if he returned home?

Dr. Evans followed soon after to report to the captain. "There were two. The other one died in the falling cargo, stuffed himself into a barrel, he had."

"Henry, do you know him?" Booth asked, tilting his head down at the boy in his grip.

Dr. Evans looked down at Clarence, then shook his head. "Never seen the kid in my life."

"But he called your name?"

"Did he, now?"

Booth just shrugged and followed orders, and started to drag Clarence towards the ramp. Eyes flitting around in panic, Clarence fiddled with the Memento Mortem. Clicking it open, then closed, then open again. _Please, god, take me back. Please!_

A hand gripping Clarence's wrist made him squeak. Dr. Evans glared down at him, before snatching the pocketwatch from him. "You little thief!" He growled.

"No!" Clarence yelped and made an attempt to reach for it again, only to be restrained by Booth.

"Where'd you get this? You've been snooping around in my room, haven't you?!"

"N-no!" Any attempts to break free from the stronger man were futile. "P-please, Dr. Evans, hear me out!"

"How do you know my name?" Dr. Evans demanded, then narrowed his eyes at Clarence. "Just who are you? How did you know about this?" He waved the watch in his face.

"Please, Let's... talk about this! Like civillised men!" Clarence felt a tear trickle down his cheek.

Dr. Evans paused, then straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on, then. Explain yourself."

Clarence went silent. He glanced around at the many eyes on them right now. He gulped.

"Well?" Dr. Evans prompted.

"O-okay, I'll tell you, but.... over there, away from... everyone? Please?" Clarence tilted his head towards an emptier area of the deck and grinned anxiously. Dr. Evans considered it, then grabbed Clarence's wrist and whisked him away. Once away from prying ears, he released him.

Clarence lost his voice. What was he supposed to say? _Oh, no biggie, just from the future! And I've seen how everyone dies!_ There's no way anyone would take that seriously. But he could tell with every passing second that Dr. Evans' irritation was growing. He clipped open his case and drew out the book, then meekly handed it over.

Curiously, Evans opened it up. He damn near couldn't believe what he was reading, what he was seeing. He carefully skimmed through the first few pages, then closed the book again. Clarence could see hesitation in the older man's eyes. Even as the original owner of the Memento Mortem, he had no idea the watch could do something like this. But in the end, he couldn't deny his own unmistakable handwriting and signature. He wordlessly returned both the book and the watch to him, and returned to the crew.

"We could alert the authorities, have the boy arrested instead." Witterel told him, regretting his choice to let him off so easy.

"No need, I was mistaken." Evans said, rummaging through his pockets. After retrieving some money, he handed it over to the captain, who raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"What's this?"

"For the boy's ticket."

"Ticket?"

Witterel pocketted the money. There's no way he'd turn down easy money, and they had plenty of room and supplies for one more passenger. To Clarence, it felt like he were watching a play, as nothing more than a viewer with no power over the story unfolding. On one hand, he wouldn't be dumped in Falmouth with nowhere to go, but how is being on a doomed ship any better?! Weighing his options was futile, as he no longer had the willpower to make a decision of his own. He was a mere, frightened jellyfish, following the tides wherever they took him.

"Fine, but if that boy causes any more trouble, into the lazarette he goes." Witterel warned, sending a look Clarence's way. With that, he returned to work, as did the rest of the onlookers. Evans rather quickly disappeared down the stairs, leaving Clarence completely alone.

For the next hour, all Clarence did was sit on the railing, staring at port. The crew were finalising prepartions to set sail into open ocean, and the sun was high in the sky. Soon, Clarence was watching as the port moved further and further away.

Finally, he stood up.

_I want to get off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the one person who reads this will enjoy it lol
> 
> Clarence has a drawing in the style of the game, if you're interested check it out here ~
> 
> https://64.media.tumblr.com/1884739d61b1b8cdfccb90949df8450e/8159ff2e3b76cfbf-3b/s400x600/87d87e601202ebb57a3238a89a434e8d06f427d3.png
> 
> Fun fact! The accordion was invented 20-ish years after the event of the Obra Dinn. Guess it's not his first rodeo into time travel lol  
> The snow globe was also invented a full century after. Yeah I'm the type of guy to actually research these things to check for accuracy and then ignore it anyway
> 
> Please if anyone reads this and has Obra Dinn OCs..... please.... tell me about them... p . lease. ..  
> Edit: Changed Hamadou to Alexander because I mistook who in the cargo hold during loose cargo lmao


	2. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarence adjusts to life on the Obra Dinn while trying to save the lives of the Soloman Syed and Renfred Rajub.

"And no going into the pantry, either... Lad, are you alright? You're pale as a ghost."

There was no response from Clarence.

"Er, alright then... Did you even listen to a word I said?"

John Davies, the fourth mate, sighed. Defeated by the stone cold stare, he left. Several minutes later, someone else came to him.

"Um, hi."

Clarence looked at the young boy, seemingly around his own age. The boy sat next to him on the railing.

"Name's Davey. I heard you leapt out and saved Samuel from the falling cargo. That was pretty brave of you." The boy said, but Clarence still couldn't find his voice. Somehow, hearing about it only made it seem less believable.

"Um, can we get your name, at least?"

"Cl... Clarence..." He finally managed to get out.

Davey's eyes lit up as he finally opened up. "Great. You've been up here for an hour now, wanna come down and see where you'll be staying?"

Clarence nodded and hopped down from the railing, and Davey followed suit. "Right this way."

The two of them headed down to the passenger cots, Clarence thoughtlessly leading the way. Once there, he turned to face Davey, who seemed bewildered for a reason he couldn't put his finger on.

"Er... Right, well, this is where you'll be staying. If you need anything, let one of us stewards know, okay? Your best bet would be finding Zungi Sathi, the general steward. He's the Indian one, can't miss him."

Clarence nodded in acknowledgment.

"Okay... I'll let you get settled, then. You'll know when it's dinnertime when you hear the bosun's call." Davey left him be. Clarence looked back at the cots, one above the other. The bottom one was evidently already claimed by one of the Formosan guards, who was busy setting it up. Clarence climbed to the top one and sat, his little legs dangling over the edge.

He cleared his throat. He knew very little Formosan.

" _(Um... Good afternoon.)_ " He said, in an accent that he could just tell was terrible.

The guard peered up in surprise.

" _(What... is your name?)_ " Clarence asked.

" _(Hok-Seng Lau. What is your name?)_ " The guard responded. His surprise seemed to be of the pleasant variety, at least.

"Clarence."

Hok-Seng Lau attempted to continue the conversation, but could see from the blank look on Clarence's face that that was pretty much the extent of his knowledge on this language. He returned to his task, then settled down to rest. Clarence figured he would be taking night shift guarding the Formosan cargo, so he didn't disturb him.

Instead, he retrieved the book from his case. He opened it and found some small joy in being able to fill in some of the names he had struggled with. It didn't last as he skimmed past a sketch that brought back dreadful memories.

Later, at dinner, Clarence had yet to fully grasp his situation. Even on an empty stomach, he poked unethusiastically at his dinner. 

"Hey there, you wanna eat that, it's gonna be your last fresh meal for a while, haha!" Said a man who was evidently the cook, Thomas Sefton.

Clarence didn't understand at first, but as it dawned on him, his stomach sank. Not only did he have to face possibly being split in half by a kraken, he had to endure life on a dirty, dingy ship, where the food became rotten and maggot-ridden within days. He couldn't tell which was worse. He forced a forkful into his mouth.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Eh?" Thomas teased him and laughed.

"Leave the boy alone. He witnessed a man die." The surprising defence drew Clarence's attention to Samuel. The man he saved just a couple of hours ago. The two shared a brief glance, but Clarence couldn't hold it.

He stared down at his plate for the rest of the meal as he forced himself to finish it.

Things began to liven up around the evening, when most of the crew were off-shift. The top deck filled with activity, men gathering to chat and play games. The passengers too joined in, the ones that could speak English, that is.

With nothing else to do but sit and stew in stress, Clarence followed the noises up.

He wandered about the various groups, none paying any attention to the lost boy, until the fellow passengers noticed him.

"Hey, stowaway kid."

The call drew him over and he looked up at the woman, anxiously palming the Memento Mortem in his pocket. Among her was the other female passenger, the fiddle-player, and the captain's wife, who he recognised as Abigail Hoscut Witterel.

"Good evening, ma'am." Clarence said quietly.

"Oh, he's politer than I expected. Where are you from?"

"London, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emily." She said with a warm smile that made Clarence feel at ease. That's when he finally noticed the wedding ring on her finger.

"Emily Jackson! Of course!" He whispered. He felt stupid for not checking for something like that during his investigation, when one woman on the list was clearly listed as a "miss" and the other wasn't!

"What was that?"

"Clarence! My name's Clarence!" He peeped, then cleared his throat.

The other woman introduced herself as Jane, as expected, and the fiddle-player, with his Italian accent, was obviously the only Italian on board, Nunzio Pasqua, before he even uttered his name.

"So why did you stowaway, Clarence?" asked Abigail, although her tone was more sympathetic than judgemental.

"Uh....."

Clarence drew a blank. He tried to come up with a story plausible enough, but he couldn't land it on time.

"Nevermind. Emily here also won't tell us why she's heading to the Orient. She's a mysterious woman." Abigail seemed humoured, and Clarence managed a small smile in response.

Nunzio noticed him fidgetting with the shoulder strap of his case. "What's in the box? It looks very heavy."

"You know, you don't have to bring your stuff everywhere. Nobody's going to go through it." Abigail added.

"Um..." He opened it up to show off his accordion. It was brand new for his 15th birthday, shiny, and embezzled with an intricate design. Of course he was going to show it off. Nunzio's eyes lit up.

"Wait, is that all you have? You brought an instrument but didn't pack any clothes? Any food? You know this voyage is going to take months, don't you?" Abigail said. "Did you intend to get caught? You know, you're lucky my husband's so soft on kids, most other ships would have just locked you up."

Clarence went red. Great, now everyone thinks he's a moron.

"Nevermind that, play us something! Come on!" Nunzio urged.

"Uhh..."

"Come on, we want to hear it!"

"Let him breathe, you're going to give him stage fright, Nunzio!" Jane said. Clarence noted that she sounded very well-spoken. He wondered what a woman like her was doing on this ship in the first place. In fact, he wondered what both women were doing, when the other was married and without her husband.

Clarence's eyes trailed around. Despite Nunzio's fuss, most of the crew were still engaged in their own affairs, laughing and chatting and gaming. It felt off to Clarence, somehow. As if it were impossible that these men could get along so well after all the murders and hostility he had witnessed in the past... future?

"Alright, how about I play something instead, then?" Nunzio offered with a grin, and positioned his fiddle against his shoulder. As the music filled the air, the crew cheered, and a couple leapt to their feet to dance. The three women jovially joined in.

Clarence slipped away from the chaos and watched the fun. He then took out his catalogue to note down the names he had retrieved. The sketch in his catalogue looked very much similar to the scene before him, albiet with a few different faces, and everyone seemed so happy. However, his stomach sunk as his eyes trailed lower to the second sketch just below.

This happiness wouldn't last.

He checked the pocketwatch. He may not understand what the hands represented, but he had seen them spinning back frequently enough to memorise the positions of them during pretty much every death. They were barely off the first death. Next up should be...

Clarence scanned the deck, until he saw them. The Indian seamen. The group of four were drinking and watching Nunzio. Clarence had only been able to attach one name to a face, thanks to one of the others calling it out as he died. If only more people could have done that, it would have made his investigation much easier.

He wasn't sure if he could save anyone on this ship. Especially not against the beasts. But that didn't mean he wouldn't try. So, he approached. Once again, his knowledge on the language was limited. His schooling only taught him basic phrases for exotic languages like this.

" _(Hello. How are you?)_ " He greeted. The four men shared a perplexed look among themselves.

" _(Hello?)_ "

" _(Do you need something?)_ "

"I speak English." said William Wasim.

"Oh, great! My Hindi's not all that great." Clarence sat with them and thrust his hand out towards them.

"I could tell."

"Oh."

One by one, he shook hands with them. From what he could tell, the ill didn't seem all that unwell to him. Maybe he had a chance to do something? Then he popped the question that's been burning in his mind for hours.

"What are your names?"

Come night, most of the crew headed down to sleep, aside from the night watch. Clarence stayed on the top deck, staring at the stars. The cold was even more biting at night, and as awful as it was, he almost appreciated the clarity it brought to his mind. At the very least, it made him feel grounded... As grounded as one could feel out in the middle of the ocean. The crew busied quietly behind him, ignoring or perhaps not noticing his presence. Eventually, he returned to his cot. He crept quietly, although the creaking of the floorboards were probably nothing against the roaring snore of the sleeping men.

His night was wrought with nightmares that had him thrashing about and waking in a cold sweat more than once.

In the morning, he was once again awoken against his will. There was a foreign movement on his body, and he startled away, back flat against the wall. Hok-Seng Lau was returning his blanket to him, which he had found strewn on the ground.

" _(Sorry. Sorry.)_ " He told him, bowing his head and quickly backing out to give him room. Once the curtain was drawn again, Clarence brought the cold blanket up to his face and sobbed.

When he had no more tears, he tried to settle again. Although distant, the creaking, stomping and talking of the morning shift was enough to keep Clarence barely on the cusp of sleep.

Lau returned, still needing to exchange shifts with the guard sleeping in the cot under Clarence.

" _(Thank you.)_ " Clarence croaked.

It caught Lau by surprise, and he finally noticed the eyes peering at him from under the blanket. He nodded to him.

" _(Goodnight.)_ "

He awoke Chioh Tan, and the two exchanged some words briefly in their native language. After Tan left, Lau got in bed and was snoring not long after.

Clarence preferred the guard that didn't snore.

\--------

Already in a sour mood from the rough night, Clarence only felt more miserable by the garbage breakfast he was given. Cold, no-one's fault but his own, for getting up 3 hours later than everyone else.

Everything still felt dream-like. A part of him had hoped that he would awaken back home, back in his warm, soft silks, with a maid to bring him tea and breakfast and light his fire for him. But waking up still in the past only cemented how truly stranded he was here.

Despite the blank stare out the porthole as he ate, he was very much aware of his surroundings. Listening in to as many voices as he could. Namely, the three Indian seamen. The fourth must have been working elsewhere.

Soloman Syed was coughing. It wasn't all that frequent, nor harsh. Just an occassional little cough between laughing, or clearing his throat before talking. Clarence was sure that nobody else was even paying any attention to it.

Once he finished his breakfast, he opened his catalogue and read through it. How on earth was he supposed to do anything about this chaos? The mermaids, the crab-riding monsters, the fucking _Kraken_?! He ran his fingers through his curls, going teary eyed.

"Hey."

He slammed his book shut.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Clarence quickly blinked the tears away and hoped Davey didn't notice. "Is there anything I can... Are you alright?" _Ugh, he noticed._

"Yes, I'm fine! I mean, no I don't need anything, thanks." He said.

"Alright." Though as Davey turned to leave, Clarence changed his mind.

"Actually, can I get some tea, please? Do we have tea on this ship?"

"I can get tea for you."

"Thanks."

He hoped it would help calm his nerves, at least.

When he returned to deliver the tea, Clarence opened his mouth, only to close it again.

"Is there anything else you want?" Davey asked, clearly noticing some hesitation.

Clarence craved company. Never before in his life had he felt so alone and helpless. Never before had he felt alone and helpless at all, really.

"Can you sit with me?" His request was barely a whisper.

Davey paused, glancing towards where he needed to go. He supposed he could spare a minute and sat down.

"Why don't you go talk with the other passengers? They seem nice."

"Yeah, they do..." Clarence mumbled.

"Yeah... um, was your first night pleasant enough?"

"Not really."

"Oh, sorry about that. You do look tired."

Clarence waved it off. "How long have you been sailing?"

"Only a year now."

"Really? Wow. This is my first time on a boat." He forced a smile, but Davey held an odd expression for a second, and Clarence definitely noticed it.

"Uh?"

"No, nothing... Is something wrong with your tea?"

Clarence realised he hadn't touched it at all. "Oh, no, not at all. It's just... warm."

"Ah. That's the best time to drink it, in my opinion."

"My hands would disagree."

Davey gave him a small smile, but wasn't sure what else to say. Based on everything, he could only assume that something bad must have happened to Clarence before he came on board. He didn't seem like the sort of stowaway to just be here for adventure, because at no point did he ever seem like he wanted to be here.

They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Hey, why don't you come to the communal area in an hour? Roderick's got marbles, you can play with us."

Clarence perked up, if only a little bit. "Alright."

Davey grinned. "I gotta get back to work. See you later."

As promised, an hour later, Clarence came to the communal area. The mates and captain were also sitting around a table, sharing a drink and a chat. Off by the windows were Emily and Jane, whispering among themselves. Clarence approached the boys, who had already gotten the marbles out and started a game.

"Hey, Clarence."

"Hi, Davey." He then turned to the other, boy, slightly taller than Davey and much taller than himself. "Hi."

"Hi." Roderick responded as he presented a handful of marbles. Clarence looked down at the little clay balls, painted in cute colours and patterns.

"How do I play?" He asked.

"What? You've never played marbles before? Not even at your school grounds?" said Roderick.

"I was homeschooled."

"Oh, you're like, upper class then, huh?"

Clarence nodded hesitantly.

"I never went to school. Had to work instead." Davey added. "Look, you gotta try and hit the big marble there. Hit it twice in a row and you win." He pointed, then demonstrated with a toss of a marble, and it clicked against the queen marble. "Yes!" His fist flew into the air.

"Hey, that doesn't count! It wasn't your turn!" Roderick argued.

"Aw, come on!"

Clarence laughed. "That's easy." He said and went ahead at proving that by completely missing the queen marble.

"Easy, huh?" Roderick teased.

"Hey, that was just my first try." The three of them laughed.

As evening came, Clarence headed to the main deck. Some time with boys his own age had lifted his spirits, and his mind gears were whirring. Nose buried in the book, he studied all the notes he had made like he was preparing for a concert. He had time to plan. He had time to find a way to fix all of this. He barely noticed as the crowd diminished and night fell.

\--------

Despite another nightmare-filled night, Clarence sprang out of bed the next day.

" _(Good morning!)_ " he said to the Formosan passengers, who slept in the cots across the way from him. Miss Lim, and It-Beng Sia. They were sitting together, having a chat. They were royalty, or at least, one of them was? He wasn't entirely sure of their relation to one another, they didn't look blood-related as far as he could tell.

Lim smiled and waved, and Clarence waved back and went on his way, when he passed an officer.

"Good morning, Mr. Perrott."

"Morning? More like afternoon, gahah. What was your name again?"

"Clarence, sir. Is it really afternoon?"

"Yep. Doesn't look like you got a good sleep, lad, you look exhausted."

Clarence rubbed his eyes. He couldn't deny that for sure, but if he stayed in bed any longer, he'd surely wake up to Dr. Evans checking his pulse.

"Go get some breakfast, you'll feel better after that."

Clarence watched Perrott leave, his steward in tow. He seemed like a pleasant fellow. And not just based on first impressions, either. He seemed good to his steward at least. Caring. Protective, even.

It only reminded him of the horrid snap of Roderick's neck when he got crushed by a loose cannon. Clarence's appetite was gone faster than the life in Roderick's eyes.

He retreated to the main deck to throw up over the railing. He could hear some of the sailors laughing at him. It didn't help. One laugh got his attention though.

Edward Nichols.

He side-eyed him, a thread of vomit still hanging from his lips. Nichols stopped laughing suddenly.

Clarence spat one last time and straightened up. He returned down to the lower decks and came to check on the two sick Indians.

They were working away, seeming fit, for the most part. Syed was still coughing, but nobody seemed all that concerned. Clarence sought out the general steward, Zungi Sathi.

" _(Hello!)_ " He called out to him.

Sathi smiled at the attempt. It was cute.

"Do you need something, sir?"

"Um, I come with a message, actually. From Mr. Syed and Mr. Rajub. They want a drink, if, if it's no problem." He said, smiling sweetly.

"Thank you, sir." Sathi got to work. Clarence watched him go, then remembered the time. Roderick and Davey must be on break by now, so off he went to go bother some more stewards.

While they played marbles again, Clarence broached the topic of perhaps getting an extra blanket.

"It gets rather cold at night, you see." He said with a pleading grin.

"Yeah, alright. I'll fetch you one afterwards." said Davey.

"Thanks."

Mid-way through their game, the three midshipmen charged in.

"You playing marbles? Oh, I used to be the best at marbles back at school!" boasted Peter Milroy. "Watch." He added as he scooped up a handful of marbles.

"There's no way you can hit it now, the field's all set!" Thomas Lanke scoffed, but Peter had a trick up his sleeve. He aimed carefully, then threw the marble at an angle, and it bounced over the failed attempts of previous marbles and landed square on the queen marble.

"What the hell was that! You're not allowed to bounce them!" Roderick argued.

"What are you talking about, that's just how you're supposed to play!"

"Yeah, that's how we learned it in school." Both Peter and Thomas rebuffed. Thomas then took a marble and also took his turn, hitting the queen with the same bouncing manouver. "Hah, still got it!"

"Tch, no wonder you were "the best" at it, you cheaters!" Roderick pouted as the older boys purloined their game of marbles.

Clarence gazed at the midshipmen. Although none of them had paid any attention to them, he found them interesting. They seemed fun. At his turn, he tried to bounce the marble like they had, yet still failed to hit his target.

Nunzio was playing the fiddle for the crew at evening again. Clarence came up to watch, leaning against the railing. There were a lot more people dancing now. Even Edward Spratt, as old as he was, was joining in. Much to the dismay of the crew, however, Nunzio eventually tired and took a time out. Groans of disappointment and urges to continue rang out. Clarence fidgetted with the strap of his case. He then proceeded to steal someone's seat, took out his accordion and strapped it up to his chest.

He mostly knew classical musics, but that didn't mean he never played something more fun during free time. He got the impression these sorts of people would prefer something folk-sy.

After the first note, a lot of attention was suddenly on him.

Clarence gulped. He'd performed before bigger crowds, but at least he usually had rehersals before that!

Most of the crew were surprised, but surprise quickly elated to joy as the sweet music filled the air. Especially when Clarence began to thump his foot along to the jaunty tune, and it spread like a virus, the sailors all stomping their feet in time to the beat, until it had spread across the whole deck, and the Obra Dinn herself had grown a heartbeat. His fingers danced over the keys, breathing with the accordion as natural as if it were his own lungs, 8 years of hard practise had culminated into an expertise that came to Clarence as easy as blinking. Any anxiety he had about pleasing the crowd had blown away with the winds.

Nunzio, by some miracle, found his energy again and thrust himself into the music, using his own keen ear to follow along to Clarence's tune. Clarence sent a grin brighter than the sun his way, and Nunzio responded in fashion.

Soon, even captain Witterel was drawn out from his cabin, and it didn't take him but a moment to join in with dancing. He took his wife's hands to pull her in for a dance, and Clarence watched with contentment at all the joy being shared on board right now.

Clarence performed well into the evening, far longer than Nunzio had the energy for. He sang until his throat was sore, reaching octaves far higher than anyone expected from him. It turned out that music was a very easy way into these men's hearts as he bathed in compliments of the crew heading off to bed.

He played one last tune for the night watch, before finally calling it and putting away his accordion. He sat and watched the stars for a moment, when he felt someone by his side.

"Clarence, that was _(magnificent! Incredible!)_ " Nunzio praised, speckling in some Italian in his excitement.

"Thank you. You were " _(incredible)_ " too."

"Oh, good job on that pronounciation! Do you speak much Italian?"

" _(I speak enough, Mr. Pasqua.)_ "

"You continue to impress! How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was 7, sir."

"Please, just call me Nunzio. You must have had a good teacher."

"I had a strict teacher."

"Ah, yes, but I see all that hard work was worthwhile." Nunzio grinned and patted Clarence's back. "It's getting cold out, isn't it? How about we continue our talk down below?"

Clarence nodded in agreement and followed the fellow musician down, where they chatted the night away about their favourite genres and musicians. The night was much less lonely with a like-minded soul to talk to.

\--------

Day four on the Obra Dinn.

Clarence got up drearily, rubbing his eyes. He clicked open the pocketwatch to check on the situation. The hands were moving along, although he still couldn't quite tell how long it would be until the Syed and Rajub would perish. He got out to greet the day.

As he was heading up to the main deck, he passed by Davey and his boss.

"Morning, Davey. Morning, Mr. Davies. Huh, you have the same name, doesn't that ever get confusing?"

"Morning, Clarence. And no, not usually." John Davies chuckled.

"Sometimes." Davey added quietly.

The two of them were about to move along, but Clarence called out hastily.

"O-oh, Davey, could I get another blanket?"

"Another one? Hm..." He fidgetted a bit. "That's kind of pushing it..-"

"Eh, it's fine, just give him another one." Davies said with a casual shrug.

Clarence grinned wide. "Thank you, sir!" He could tell the two of them were busy, so he didn't keep them for long. He himself had a mission in mind.

He sought out Syed and Rajub and took note of where they were. He watched them both for a short while, judging their state. He didn't dare try and approach while they were busy working, though. He noticed some shortness of breath, especially while doing something strenous. Which, as far as he could tell, involved pretty much every job on the ship.

He thumbed the smooth metal of the Memento Mortem, feeling pretty helpless. He just wished there was someone on board who could understand his position and help...

His attempt to get Zungi Sathi's attention failed, the steward seemed far too busy cleaning up the gun deck. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

After following the blueprints in his catalogue to the pantry, he helped himself inside.

Immediately, he clamped a hand over his nose. Something was definitely rotting in here.

"Urgh..."

He pressed onward through the stench and retrieved two cups to fill with some fresh water from a barrel.

With no hesitation, he hurried out, where he once again passed by John Davies and his steward, seemingly running some sort of inspection for the cargo hold, so he said hi to them both and was about to move on, only to be stopped by the looks on both of their faces.

"Were you just in the pantry?"

The growl in Davies' voice made Clarence anxious.

"Uh..."

"You're not allowed in there! Why did you even..?" Davey stammered.

"What? I just wanted some water, nobody told me I wasn't allowed in there!" Clarence squeaked, shrinking into his shirt.

"I most certainly did!" Davies huffed. "Water has to be heavily rationed! We're in the middle of the ocean!"

Clarence went pale. Did he? _Oops..._

Davey noticed that he was holding two glasses and nodded towards them. "Who is that for, anyway?"

"Um. Mr. Syed and Mr. Rajub. They're sick and need some water." He looked up at Davies and gave him puppy eyes. It seemed to work well enough last time, with the blanket.

Davies' hard stare softened gradually, until Clarence broke through his shell. He sighed deeply through his nose.

"Alright, alright, fine. You did seem pretty out of it, and you're a good lad... Just don't do it again, else you'll definitely be arrested."

"Yes, Mr. Davies. Sorry, Mr. Davies." Clarence muttered and made a hasty retreat, cheeks burning.

There was meat on the menu today. Clarence knew because he overheard some of the crew make excited comments about it. He hoped it would be better than the salty slop of yesterday's dinner. He couldn't even tell what was in it. Except salt. Too, too much salt.

He sat among the other passengers, surrounded in all directions by tightly-packed in sailors. His plate was dumped unceremoniously before him and one look was all it took to turn him off his meal.

The meat was off-colour. He was certain that even boiled meat wasn't supposed to look like this. Surely this couldn't be what he had smelled in the pantry earlier?!

With a scowl on his face, he pushed the plate away.

"I am... not eating this."

"Starve, then."

Clarence looked up in shock at Thomas Sefton.

"Tch, spoiled kid." muttered Malo Guéguan, the only French seaman. The two of them shared a chuckle.

Clarence could only hang his jaw. Never before in his life had he been so insulted. With a pout, he took his bread and tore a piece off, only to recoil in horror as several tiny insects spilled out.

"Eek!" He shoved the bread away, right onto the floor.

"Hey! That's perfectly good bread, don't waste it!" Sefton huffed.

"Perfectly good?!" Clarence exclaimed, then shrieked again as he brushed a bug off his hand. "It's in- _FES_ -ted, get off, _get OFF_ , aahh!!"

"Aye, that's extra protein, gives it some flavour!" A seaman from behind chuckled. Clarence went green. He then felt a tap on his shoulder and he looked back at him. It was one of the few faces he hadn't been able to attach a name to during his investigation. The balding Englishman passed something over to him.

"Here."

"Thank you, sir. What is it?"

"Hah! Sir!" The man shared a laugh with the Chinese folk he called company. "It's a ship's biscuit."

Clarence curiously examined it. It was pretty large, an uncomfortable fit in one hand, and felt hard. He took a bite. At least, he attempted to, because his teeth merely clacked against it. He withdrew and took another angle. _Clack_. After several failed nibbles, he pouted at the seamen.

"This... this isn't food! This is inedible! It's a rock! You could kill a man with this!"

The seamen threw his head back in laughter, alongside his friends. Clarence hit the biscuit against the table several times to prove a point, when a small chunk splintered off.

"Oh? Maybe I can eat this." He scooped up the shard and popped it in his mouth.

_CRUNCH._

Immediate regret.

His gums were a battlefield and he was on the losing side.

It wasn't even worth it. It just tasted of salt.

Clarence was getting rather sick of salt.

At 10pm, following their usual strict routine, most of the crew had climbed into their hammocks to sleep for the day. Clarence paced down the gun deck. To those that hadn't winked out of consciousness in an instant, he said a quiet "goodnight" in as many native languages as he could muster.

Thankfully, the Indian friend group hadn't yet fallen asleep. He peered up at them, high on their hammocks.

"Mr. Syed. Mr. Rajub." He whispered.

Syed coughed, then peered over the edge of his hammock at the small boy.

" _(What?)_ Eh-??"

Clarence tossed one of the blankets up over him, warmed with his own body heat. As much as he would miss having extra blankets, they were never for him in the first place. He tossed the second one over Rajub.

" _(Soon, feel better.)_ " He told them both. He knew something was off about his translation, but he hoped it would be passable enough for them to understand.

Wasim sat up and watched Clarence curiously as he hurried away, saying goodnight to Samuel Peters, who had been observing also. He chuckled and clapped Syed's shoulder.

" _(You two have a little friend watching over you, eh?)_ "

" _(He seems like a nice kid.)_ " Added Abraham Akbar, before turning over in his hammock to sleep.

Rajub let out a wheeze. " _(Are these stolen? I feel like we're going to get in trouble for this.)_ "

" _(Then keep them hidden, idiot!)_ " Wasim laughed and finally settled down.

\--------

They only got sicker the next day. Every cough or wheeze that Clarence heard from them only amplified his growing stress.

He continued to bring them water every so often, this time making sure either Davey or Sathi were fetching it out of the pantry for him. At least now he tended to receive a smile and a thanks instead of the perplexed look of _"why is this strange boy talking to us?"_

Davey once again invited Clarence to hang out during break, so he joined him on the main deck. They chatted about anything on their mind for a bit, before Clarence glanced around.

"Roderick not joining us?"

"No, he's with the midshipmen, I think."

Clarence then looked up, way up, at all the topmen working the rigging. Davey followed his eyes up too.

"You ever climbed up there?"

Davey snorted. "No way."

"Really? It looks fun. Must be able to see for miles at the top!"

"That's the point, yeah. You'd really climb that?"

"Yeah. Watch." Clarence grinned and grabbed onto the rigging.

"No, god, please don't. Don't! You're going to get in trouble." He pleaded, and Clarence rolled his eyes. He had only made it up a few steps.

"Fine, fine."

He turned and lay back against the ropes, staring out at sea for a brief pause, before hopping back down onto the deck.

"You're just afraid of heights, aren't you?" Clarence playfully jabbed at him.

"I am not!" Davey scoffed indignantly.

"You are. You are! I can tell." He poked his chest, and Davey gave him a playful nudge. Soon, it developed into little pushes and shoves, and then a full-blown chase around the deck, giggling and taunting one another.

Clarence may have been fast, able to keep up with Davey well enough, but found himself easily out of breath. He stopped, doubling over and holding his knees to pant and cough. Davey stopped running and came over, concerned.

"Are you alright? That doesn't sound good..." Despite his concern, he remained a few paces away.

"I'm fine, just.... phew... I'm not ill!" He wheezed.

"Is something wrong with your lungs? You should definitely go see Dr. Evans about that..."

"Oh, no, no, it's fine, it's not... More like... my ribs..." Clarence said between pants. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. _Of course, the doctor!_ "You're right, I should go see him."

"Do you need me to lead the way?"

"No, thank you."

Clarence fidgetted with the Memento Mortem, pacing around outside of the surgery. He had been avoiding Dr. Evans ever since his first night, where the man damn near scared him to death and accused him of being a thief. Which, Clarence definitely couldn't blame him for, but regardless.

He knocked on the door. He wasn't even sure if he needed to knock.

"Come in."

James Wallace glanced up from his work at the desk to look at Clarence as he crept inside. It wasn't the man he wanted to see and he glanced around for Dr. Evans instead.

Evans turned, closing the drug cabinet as he did, and gazed upon the lost child in his office. Clarence hadn't even uttered a word when he motioned to his mate.

"James, go see to the sick, would you?" He handed over a small bottle.

"Aye." James headed out, although he lingered at the door for a second, peeking over his shoulder at them both.

"So, what's the-"

"Mr. Syed and Mr. Rajub are sick." Clarence blurted out at the same as Evans had opened his mouth, then blushed at his rudeness. "Sorry."

"Aye, I know. John already came to alert me."

"John... Mr. Davies?"

Evans nodded.

Clarence glanced down at the watch, as if the symbol of death on the lid could bring him any comfort. It seemed like neither of them knew what to say. Then Clarence finally spoke again. "What's his name?" He pointed with his nose to the monkey above the shelving.

Evans held an arm out and clicked with his tongue, and the monkey came to him, hopping down onto his arm and then climbing up to his shoulder to perch. "Cheeko."

Clarence watched in fascination. He'd never seen a monkey before. "I always imagined they would be louder than this."

"Oh, not Cheeko. He's a good boy. Aren't you?" Evans hummed and scratched Cheeko's neck. Once he stopped, the monkey seemed so insulted that he returned to his post up on the shelves.

"But you're not here to talk about the monkey, are you?" He moved to the seat that had been occupied by James a moment ago, and in fashion, Clarence found a seat on one of the patient's beds.

"They're going to die, aren't they? The Indian men?"

The comment was like a dagger in Clarence's heart.

"No. No, they're going to be fine. You'll take care of them, now that you know. Right? Mr- Dr. Evans?"

"Aye, that's right, Clarence. I hear you've been taking care of them yourself, haven't you? Bringing them water and all. Sneaked into the pantry, didn't you?" He smirked as Clarence went pale, then put his hand up. "Worry not, I won't tell as long as you don't."

Clarence had closed up again.

"Aye... Well, I'd better get back to work. I got some patients to keep and eye on." Evans said as he got up, his old bones creaking louder than the chair.

Clarence nodded and rose to his feet too, and had already hurried out before Henry had time to straighten his back out.

\--------

Despite it all, Clarence felt himself falling into a routine on the ship. Up at the cusp of afternoon, first thing he did was deliver some water to the surgery, where Syed and Rajub had been moved to. Without Wasim here to translate, communicating with them was awkward, but Clarence made an effort regardless. Then he was off, eating the leftovers of breakfast, the creeping sensation of existential dread at the edge of his mind, until the mates' stewards' were on break to help him fend it off. Socialising with whoever crossed his path, up until evening where he played music for the crew, and spending half the night with Nunzio. More often than not, they withdrew to the far end of the quaterdeck to play music together, away from the potential to disturb anyone.

Clarence had hope in his heart. He awoke one day and checked the Memento Mortem- his daily ritual immediately after opening his eyes. The hands were almost in position. Today was the day Syed and Rajub would be saved. He crept out of bed to start the day.

Come evening, Clarence came down to the orlop deck again. He stared with trepidation at the surgery door. A knot was forming in his chest. He knocked and entered.

Peering around the door, afraid of what he might see, he looked at Syed and Rajub.

Clarence had never been more relieved to see eyes looking back at him. He beamed and waved. Rajub barely had the energy to lift his hand in response.

But, he was alive. That's what mattered.

\--------

The next day marked the start of his second week on the Obra Dinn.

By now, Zungi had grown quite used to the water requests, and two glasses were already awaiting Clarence when he got up.

He was eager to deliver them to the surgery and scooped them up with a smile on his face, but immediately after drawing the curtain, that smile was gone.

Two body-shaped wraps, and Wasim and Akbar crouched over them in mourning.

The silver thread of Clarence's stability began to slip.

He stumbled back, then snapped the curtains closed again and was immediately back in bed. His lip trembled, until he had to bite into his pillow to stop any sobs from escaping.

He couldn't save them.

He had failed.

If he couldn't even change their fate, how was he supposed to save anyone at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No you don't need to check the wiki to see who the hell Malo Guéguan is lol. He's another OC, not belonging to me.


	3. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarence prepares for doom, but it's not all gloom aboard the Obra Dinn.

During the rites, Clarence managed to drag his pathetic self out of bed and onto the main deck. It was the only time he saw so much of the crew gathered in one place together, all to see Syed and Rajub off on their last voyage. He had failed them. The least he could do was be here for them before they cast into the ocean.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Syed, Mr. Rajub. If only I had tried harder."

His teary gaze went to the two remaining Indian seamen. Their backs were to him. He wished he could go to them, offer some kind of condolensces or comfort or anything at all, but it wasn't his place. He was just a stranger. He turned away as they threw the bodies overboard.

No amount of effort from Davey or Roderick could rouse Clarence out of his depression. He barely uttered a word and turned down any game they offered.

Later that day, the crew were given extra rations of alcohol during dinner to ease their sombre moods. Sathi approached Clarence with a jug.

"What's this?" He mumbled as he took it, then scowled at the foul smell.

"It's grog, sir."

Clarence took a sip, but it only added to his growing list of regrets.

"It's vile."

"I'm sorry, sir. Would you prefer tea?"

Clarence looked away, pausing. He returned the jug to him.

"No. Give it to Mr. Wasim and Mr. Akbar instead." He mumbled.

Sathi nodded and obliged. They were at the opposite side of the mess hall, silent among the chattering of everyone else. As Clarence glanced their way, they raised their drinks somberly to him, but he could only look down in shame.

Same with Davey and Roderick, there was nothing Nunzio could do to cheer Clarence up, but unlike the two boys, he didn't try. He figured some empathy would go a long way for the boy.

"It is rather sad, how they went. But I'm sure they felt comforted, knowing you were looking out for them, Clarence."

Clarence gazed out at the rolling waves.

"Thank you, Nunzio."

"As unfortunate as it is, know that, at least now, their suffering is at an end."

Clarence said no more and turned to watch the crew working away. It was the last shift before the night watch, and Edward Nichols was the supervising officer for it.

He wished he could get his thoughts together. He knew he had to do something about that son of a bitch before he inadvertedly brought about the deaths of everyone else on board. However, try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about Syed and Rajub. About their surviving friends, kneeling over their bodies, tears in their eyes.

"Clarence?"

He looked back at Nunzio, who switched to Italian.

" _(Do you not like Mr. Nichols?)_ "

Clarence hesitated, unsure what to say.

" _(...No, I don't. I don't trust him. He makes me feel... unsafe. And I don't think you should trust him either.)_ " He warned. He wondered how much good it would do to keep him safe from his future murderer.

" _(Why? He seems perfectly polite to me.)_ "

Clarence sighed through his nostrils. Of course, Nunzio was right. Nichols had never once acted off. Every time he saw him, he was always acting chipper. If he didn't come with the prior knowledge of the actions Nichols would do, even he would have no idea anything was off about the man.

Taking him down was going to be harder than he thought. Nichols had built relationships and trust with the men he worked with, whereas Clarence was just a stowaway stranger. Whose word would they take?

\--------

"No..."

The crab rider had locked eyes on him. Clarence scrambled away, only for his back to hit the wall. There was nowhere left to escape to.

"No..!"

He put his arms up, the only thing he could do against such a beast, who glared down at him and whirred and chittered in its horrible, unnatural voice.

The crab plucked him right off the ground like he was weightless, and Clarence felt the teeth of its pincers pressing into his torso.

"Please...! Ghk--!!"

He felt his ribs caving under the growing pressure.

_Snap. Snap. Snap._

His lungs, pierced over and over by his breaking ribs, began to swell slowly with his own blood until the only things he could let out of his mouth were gluttural noises and chokes.

"Help!" Clarence sat up suddenly, sweat flying off his forehead. He panted, eyes wide and white knuckles trembling as he gripped the blanket. He tried to swallow to wet his throat, but his body refused to respond to him.

Eventually, he had calmed himself enough to be able to slip out of bed. He had no idea what time it was. He wandered into the communal area, but it was empty. Out the portholes, he could see the first rays of sunshine filling the sky, although not the sun itself. Maybe 6am-ish?

He sat and curled up on the couch. Listening to the noises around; the gentle waves against the hull, the crew going about their day like nothing was wrong... He wondered how Akbar and Wasim were doing. They were probably still working too.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing was fair.

When Clarence awoke again, he found himself back in his cot. He could only vaguely remember drifting off.

He sat up slowly and saw an oatmeal bowl waiting for him too. Eating it in bed only reminded him of home and made him wish more than ever that he could leave this hell on earth.

He was tired. So, so tired.

After unenthusiastically emptying the bowl, he went to the surgery. It was conveniently right next to where he slept.

"Dr. Evans?" He called weakly as he peeked in. Thankfully, Evans was alone this time. The surgeon motioned him in, and he closed the door behind him.

"Do you have anything to help me sleep?"

"Are you having trouble? Nevermind, I don't need to ask, I can see it clear as day." Evans said. "What kind of troubles?"

"Nightmares." Clarence sat on the bed and deflated.

"Nightmares? Hm..." Evans rubbed his chin, then looked at the boy, who looked smaller than ever. He sighed and shook his head. "We can try some laudanum, but I don't think it can do anything about that."

Clarence stared at his feet for several seconds.

"Is it about the things you've seen? In the book?" Evans asked as he leaned casually against the wall. Clarence nodded.

"I figured as much." Evans couldn't help but feel for the poor lad. He looked downright miserable. "Clarence, I'm sorry about Soloman and-"

"Why didn't you save them?!"

The sudden snap stole Evans' voice for a second.

"Excuse me?"

"You were supposed to save them!!" Clarence had now leapt to his feet, fists balled, voice shrill.

"I did my best, boy."

"Do not call me boy!"

"And do not raise your voice at me." Despite not raising his voice even a little, Clarence froze on the spot. That stern stare in his eyes had him tamed immediately, and he sat on the bed, hands in his lap. "Taking it out on me won't change the fact that they're dead. And here's some advice for you, boy, sometimes people just die and blaming yourself is only going to lead you down a dark path."

Clarence shrunk away from the scolding. He knew it was true. He really did only blame himself, for not acting sooner, for not doing something different. He let out a single sob before catching his lip in his teeth. "I-I'm sorry, Dr. Evans, that-that was rude of me..." He brought his knees to his chest and hugged himself, trembling. "I-I can't do anything. I'm going to die here, e-everyone's going to die..!"

Evans stared at the sobbing child for a few seconds with a thoughtful expression.

"How can you look at me and tell me you can't do anything when you already have?"

Clarence gave a quizzical glance.

"You saved Samuel Peters, didn't you?"

He only started to tear up again.

"It makes no difference! He's just going to die to the kraken!"

Evans' eyebrows shot up. His thirst for knowledge was tugging at him to learn more, but he feared about knowing too much and inadvertently altering events to come. Clarence needed everything to go as he had seen it if he wanted any chance at saving anybody.

Despite his best judgement, he asked anyway. "Hey, I know from the book that I survive, at least. What about Cheeko?"

"Um..." Clarence frowned and tried to think back on the scenes he had witnessed. As Evans and the others escaped on the lifeboat, he definitely didn't recall seeing a monkey, and that's not something easy to miss, especially when he had scoured for every little detail as he had. "He... didn't make it."

"Ah." Evans thought for a second. "How does he go?"

Clarence wished he could tell him. He could see that look in his eyes, he could see himself in it.

"I don't know. I didn't see it."

"You didn't? His corpse wasn't on board?"

"...I'm not sure. He might have been in the lazarette."

"The lazarette?"

"It was locked when I was investigating. I swear to you, I searched that ship high and low, I could not find that key! There were others in there, but I couldn't see much."

"Who else was in there?"

Clarence brought out his book to look at the fates he had failed to see. "Mr. Perrott, Mr. Dahl and Mr. Guéguan. At least, I didn't see them fall overboard... I suppose they could have." But when he had climbed over the crates and pressed his cheeks against the bars, he had definitely seen bones in there, so at least one of the mystery fates occured in the lazarette, that he knew for sure.

Evans was silent for a moment, eyes on the book. He held his hand out. "Can I take a look?"

Despite craving an ally, Clarence hesitated. He wasn't sure why. He handed over the catalogue.

As Evans flicked through each page carefully, Clarence could do nothing but gaze around. Sometimes down at his hands, sometimes at the scary-looking tools hanging up. He made an attempt to call Cheeko like Evans had, but the monkey gave him the cold shoulder. He pouted at the rude little cretin as if it would change his mind.

"Why would Martin be in the lazarette...?" Evans had mumbled under his breath, although it drew Clarence's attention anyway. "He's not the type to act stupid, I don't see him being thrown in the lazarette. Then again, I'm shocked at Filip's actions too..."

"What about Mr. Guéguan?" Clarence asked, hopeful for some useful insight.

"No idea."

Clarence sighed, frustrated.

Evans shook his head and returned the catalogue to its owner. "They'd send a child..."

"Huh?"

"The East India Company. Don't think I ever imagined they'd send someone as young as you when I shipped off the Memento Mortem."

"The Me- the pocketwatch?" He pulled it out of his pocket and gazed down at it. Evans nodded.

"That's what it's called, yes."

Clarence sighed. "The Chief was supposed to go. Sent me instead." He muttered, then mimicked the phrase that he's heard countless times over his life. "You're going to follow in my footsteps, young man. That's your destiny!"

He blew a raspberry, then pulled his knees up again. He missed home.

Evans cocked an eyebrow. "You're the Chief Inspector's son...!" He realised.

"We argued for months about it. I didn't want to go, I don't want to be a damn insurance inspector. I want to be a detective!" For a second, there was a glimmer in his eyes, but it faded once more. "...Wanted." He looked away sadly. "It's the only reason I came to the Obra Dinn in the first place. The mystery called to me. I was never going to be an insurance inspector."

"What's made you change your mind? About becoming a detective?"

Clarence only stared blankly at him, then gestured around vaguely.

"Don't give up on your dreams so easily. It takes time to grow an iron stomach. You're just a kid."

Clarence wasn't so sure about that. After they sat in a few moments of silence, he got up again. He grabbed the handle of the door, peering over his shoulder at Evans, before leaving again.

He was a little late joining Roderick and Davey on their break. As usual, they were in the communal area. As Clarence approached, he paused for a moment to greet the officers on the way.

"Good day, captain. Mr. Davies, Mr. Perrott. Mr.... umm...?" The name escaped him.

"Hoscut."

Clarence nodded and quickly moved along to join the boys. He was in no emotional state to take even an ounce of embarrassment. He tried to open up a bit and join in their activities. Today, they were carving some wood. It seemed like a fun activity, something Clarence had never done before.

He didn't engage in much conversation. He had nothing to say that wouldn't drag the mood down. Even so, Davey kept trying to get him involved.

He liked Davey. Davey was nice. Maybe it helped that he didn't know how he dies.

"Ey Clarence, what were you doing here in the morning?" Roderick asked.

"Hm? Oh, couldn't sleep."

"Heh, and here's more comfortable than bed somehow?"

Clarence turned to the officers. "Mr. Perrott! Did you carry me to bed this morning?" He called. He realised a moment too late that he probably interrupted their conversation.

"Eh? Oh, yes, why?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You're lucky you're a passenger, a crewmate would have been flogged for that." Chuckled Edward Nichols, who glanced at Clarence, then cleared his throat and awkwardly looked away.

Clarence bitterly looked down at his carving again.

"Woah, what was that glare for? It was just a joke." Davey whispered with a light nudge.

"Glare? I didn't glare."

"You did, I saw it too." Roderick added.

"I don't know, it- I just had something in my eye, that's all." Clarence muttered and avoided the topic any further by carving more aggressively.

Roderick and Davey shared a brief glance.

Even after they both left for work again, Clarence continued to carve. The final product was garbage, but he found it far more satisfying to destroy it than he did to make it. Except now he had a knife on him, and he didn't even know who it belonged to, so he kept it safe in his case for now.

He was still there when captain Witterel came off shift. He came to lounge in one of the armchairs. Clarence was on his feet immediately. It was the only time he had seen him alone and now was his chance to try and get through to him!

Witterel noticed him staring after a moment.

"What is it?"

Clarence fidgetted. He wasn't really sure where to take this, but he had to try! If he could get the captain suspicious of Nichols, maybe he'd never get the chance to mutiny!

"Do you trust Mr. Nichols?"

Witterel frowned. Clarence could tell he was immediately suspicious. _Hopefully not of me, at least._

"Why do you ask something like that?"

Clarence fidgetted. "He-- I, I don't... trust him."

Witterel stared right through him. Clarence realised that, perhaps, this is one thing he defintiely should have rehearsed.

"Why don't you trust him? Has he done something?"

"N-no, not yet, but-"

"Not yet? What are you talking about?"

Clarence paused. He couldn't exactly say that he was from the future and that he knew what Nichols was planning. He could tell that Witterel was already sceptical of him.

"I... have a bad feeling about him."

Witterel sighed. "Alright, well... I'll make a note of that." He waved Clarence off. He wanted to take his break already.

Clarence pouted.

In hindsight, he's not sure what he expected.

At the crew get-together on the main deck, Clarence looked for his Indian friends. Neither were about, and everybody else was chatting and playing like it was nothing.

Trying to collect all his emotions inside and package them away, he checked into his book again. The next event would spell the start of doom on this voyage. He alone had to put a stop to it. He had to plan.

How much time did he have? He had yet to understand the complicated mechanisms of the Memento Mortem's way of keeping time, so he couldn't use his knowledge of the hands' positions. He examined the map of the Obra Dinn's voyage. It took a week to get to the first cross... so the second... maybe another week?

There was one way to be certain, though. He peered around the deck until he saw the man he was looking for. After quickly refreshing his memory on his name, he approached the helmsmen. He politely awaited for him to be done talking to Nathan Peters before butting into the conversation.

"Excuse me, Mr. Dalton."

Finley Dalton finally noticed him standing there. Clarence thrust the catalogue out to him and pointed at the map.

"How long will it be until we get here?"

"What's this?" Dalton reached for the book, only for it to be withdrawn, so he leant in instead. "The Canary Islands? Oh, I dunno." Clarence brought the catalogue back in close to himself. "It all depends on the weather. Why? Are you getting off at the islands?"

"Uh... Yeah." Clarence lied.

"Well, the winds are slowing down. If they pick up again, maybe two weeks. Maybe three if they don't! Just be patient, we'll get there when we get there."

Oh, so there wasn't a way to be certain after all.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton."

Clarence then noticed the Peters brothers staring at him. It made him a little anxious and he wondered if he had done something rude.

"I'm sorry for interrupting. I'll be on my way." He bowed his head and fled.

As he escaped from the cold evening air into the lower decks, Clarence started plotting. He had, perhaps, two weeks to prepare for doom.

\--------

The boat tilted port side from the weight of the beast clinging on. Huge, inky black tentacles felt their way around, and any victim unlucky enough to escape quickly vanished overboard. Clarence, through tear-blurred vision, darted from sailor to sailor, trying to hold onto them and crying out. Their expressions, twisted in horror, were the last he saw of them.

He grabbed onto the wrists of a sailor, the kraken's tentacle tightening around them. Clarence looked up in horror to see Davey's terrified face staring back.

"Hold on! Hold on, Davey!!"

"Help!!"

Movement caught Clarence's attention and he recoiled in horror as an eye bigger than he was tall stared over the railing at him. Davey vanished over the edge.

"No!!!"

He cried, then wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn't save a single person!

A scream cut through the roar of the waves, and Clarence felt a chill go through his spine. He turned around and saw Maba, held up by the legs by the kraken. Another tentacle was snaking its way to him, and Clarence knew what was next. He rose to his feet and began to sprint, but suddenly the air was tar, and he couldn't push through. No matter how hard he tried, he moved at a snail's pace, and was helpless to do anything as he saw the man split in half.

"Maba!!!"

All of a sudden, a tentacle was wrapped around himself, as if it had appeared out of thin air. He kicked and beat and struggled and screamed, but the kraken was impervious to any of his attacks. Clarence saw another tentacle coming his way and coiling around his waist, and he shrieked in horror as he met the same fate as Maba.

It was excrutiatingly slow. He felt his skin and muscle tear at the seams, and then a horrid hollowing sensation as all of his insides became outsides.

He jolted upright suddenly with a scream.

Eyes darting around, he took in his surroundings with a panic. Still in his cot, but many eyes were peering at him, and a figure nearby was hunched over. A flickering light was all he had to see. A lantern.

He burst into tears immediately, then gripped the edge of the cot and leaned over to throw up all over the floor. He withdrew under the blanket, hiding away from all the eyes on him, but no amount of effort could stop the wailing and sobbing.

"Ogh, little bastard packs a punch when he wants to..." An unfamiliar voice grunted, but Clarence was in no state to pay any attention to any of them.

"Mind your shoes."

"It's a little too late for that!"

"Clarence? Are you alright...?"

Someone touched the mound of the blanket, but Clarence flinched away, like a hunted animal scampering deeper into its burrow to escape the maws of a predator.

"Best you leave him be, lad..."

There was a host of other muttering, in a variety of languages. Much to Clarence's relief, they slowly trailed off.

"Alright, back to bed, everyone. Off you go. Yes, just nightmares, move along now."

"Bloody hell..."

Clarence found sleep again easily enough once his body could give no more tears. He awoke the next afternoon, the rest of his night may have gone undisturbed but he felt less rested than ever before in his life.

After a moment to compose himself, he gently slipped out of bed. He noticed that the mess he made had already been cleaned up, although the sour sting was still in the back of his throat. The Formoson royalty were sitting around nearby and they eyed him like he was some sort of escaped circus animal. There was no "good morning" for them today.

He was sat, staring at his breakfast and head empty, when the voice of John Davies brought him back down to earth.

"Are you alright? Clarence?"

He stared up at him and Davey. He smiled.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

A pause.

"Are you sure...?"

Clarence's mouth twitched, and his face slowly scrunched up, before he let out a sob. He buried his face in his arms, flat against the table.

"Ock, lad... Come on now." Davies sighed sympathetically. Clarence felt him take a seat next to him on the bench, and a hand against his back.

"Is it about the nightmares? Or Solomon and Renfred?"

"Why am I the only person on board who cares?!" Clarence sobbed.

"Clarence, it's not like that. We care, of course we do. But... we're used to this. Sometimes it's time to just move on, nothing else to be done about it. And we only just picked them up, nobody really got the chance to get to know them."

Clarence sniffed, unsatifised. "What about the ones who are still alive? Nobody cares to see if they're okay! They lost their friends!"

Davies paused. "You're right. How about I go tell Zungi to check in on them? Would that appease you?"

Clarence nodded, and Davies smiled and patted his back again. Clarence looked down again. He wasn't sure what to make of Davies. He had seen the man consider a mutiny, thus backstabbing everyone he had worked with on board, but so far, he had been nothing but tender and kind towards Clarence. Was he a man like Nichols, expertly hiding a dark side? Or had the stress and desperation of the situation driven him down the wrong path?

He sighed tiredly. His head ached trying to figure out what exactly happened.

"I want to go home."

Davies couldn't help but feel for the poor boy, even if he didn't fully understand the circumstances that brought him here.

"Don't worry, we'll be back in England soon."

The untruth in that statement only upset Clarence more.

"Just think of home to help you through it all, eh?"

"I don't- I don't think I have a home to go back to anymore."

Clarence continued to sniffle, and Davies deflated. He hated to see him upset, but couldn't think of how to comfort him. He awkwardly turned to his steward and motioned to him for help.

Davey came to the rescue. "Wanna come play marbles with me and Roddy later?"

Clarence was silent.

Davey paused, then tried again. "How about... some cards? Or we can finish those carvings we were working on yesterday?"

"Who did I hit?" Clarence asked suddenly. Davey blinked in confusion. "Last night. I hit someone, didn't I?"

"...Yes. It was Malo, I think. The French sailor." Davies told him.

Clarence stood up. "I should go apologise." He squeezed past Davies and was already on his way when Davey noticed the untouched oatmeal.

"Clarence, your breakfast..?"

The two Frenchmen of the Obra Dinn were hanging out in the cargo hold, where it was quietest. Their chuckling came to a stop once they noticed Clarence approach.

He recognised the two of them as Charles Miner, the bosun's mate, and Malo Guéguan. Guéguan definitely had some redness across his face.

" _(Good afternoon. Mr. Guéguan, I'm sorry for my... behaviour... earlier....)_ "

For all the confidence he had with speaking the French language, it waned quickly as Guéguan's hard stare bore into him.

" _(I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,)_ I, I didn't..." He stammered, voice growing weak. Still, Guéguan didn't say a word to him. Clarence's eyes filled with tears. He turned away and made a hasty retreat.

" _(Oh, Malo, that was cold.)_ " Miner tutted.

"Hmph..."

After calming himself once again, Clarence tried to act normal. He noticed the crew was definitely grumpier than usual, no doubt thanks to his shrill screaming disturbing everyone's night. However, he also received some sympathy from those he had made an effort to befriend. Nunzio in particular. He tried his best to talk to Clarence, but he rarely responded with more than a couple of words at a time. All that he could think of when he looked at his face was that he was the next to die.

Evening came. Clarence had clung to Nunzio like a lost duckling, but it seemed like Nunzio didn't mind the company in the slightest. Roderick came to the main deck, searching around, then marched right up to Clarence.

"Mr. Nichols needs his knife back."

All the colour drained from Clarence's face. This whole time, he had been carrying the knife of Edward _fucking_ Nichols?! The very knife that would soon find its way buried in Nunzio's lung?! He should've thrown it overboard when he had the chance! Unfortunately, as soon as the thought entered his mind, Nichols himself also came up from the gun deck.

"Ah, there you are, little chap! May I have my knife back?"

Clarence stared at him for a several seconds. There was nothing he could do about it anymore. He slowly reached into his case and returned it, dropping it into his hand. Then, in a flash, he was off.

"Don't I get a thank you for... lending... it...?" Nichols muttered as he watched the boy hurried away.

\--------

After a couple of days, Clarence's mood was on a slow incline. He still felt guilt every time he passed by and greeted Wasim and Akbar, but in general, he was almost back to his usual self. Thankfully, his night terrors hadn't ruined anyone's nights except his own... and perhaps the Formosan guard who slept below him.

Clarence was wandering around the cargo hold after breakfast when he found a stick. It was arm's length, smooth, and clean-cut.

It was a good stick.

And then he found a second stick, and his day was made.

Davey and Roderick went on break and were chatting in the communal area, when in strolled Clarence, who had unwittingly activated caveman instincts the instant he had laid hands upon his new weapon, and bonked Davey right on the head.

"Ow!" Davey turned with a hand on his head, only to see Clarence wearing a shit-eating grin. "Clare, that hurt!"

He tossed a stick to him, which Davey caught with a quizzical expression. Clarence aimed his stick at him, like a pirate wielding a sword. Roderick's mouth was ajar, until he caught up with himself and burst out laughing. Davey grinned and got up, gripping his stick in both hands, then swung at Clarence in retaliation.

Eventually, all the clonking and giggling drew the attention of the officers.

"Settle down, boys!" Hoscut sighed.

"Hey! Davey, no assaulting the passengers!" John Davies scolded playfully, only to get his hat whacked off by Clarence.

Davey tensed, and Clarence's grin faultered as Davies rose from his seat. He backed away as Davies came closer.

Davies snatched the rod from Clarence, then grinned and lightly returned the bonk. Far more gentle than Clarence had been with him.

Clarence giggled. "Ah! What makes you allowed to assault passengers then?!"

"It's self defence, you attacked me first! Damn near clubbed me to death!" Davies laughed and bonked Clarence again, who put his arms up to protect himself from the vicious attack. Suddenly, his enemy-turned saviour Davey leapt in the way, stick at the ready.

"What's this? My own faithful steward, stabbing me in the back, eh?!"

Martin Perrott was laughing along and urging them on. "Go on, lad, knock his ego down a notch!"

Nichols took the opposite side. "John, put your steward back in his place!"

The others watched with amusement as steward and mate duked it out with sticks. Davies had little issue fending off the much smaller boy, using only one hand to wield the stick.

"Hah, you'll make a good soldier one day, Davey. But not today!" He leapt forward and grabbed the stick, and disarming him was easier than taking candy from a baby. He returned to his seat, keeping both sticks by his side.

"Now, where did my hat go...?" He muttered as his eyes trailed along the floor, only to find it sitting atop Clarence's head.

Perrott and Roderick were beside themselves with laughter.

"Clarence..." Davies started, but the small bastard had already ran off with his hat.

It was an invitation to chase, but Davies didn't engage, so Clarence skipped away and wondered how long he could keep it. In the meantime, he could boast to the midshipmen about the stolen hat, which they found highly amusing, yet teased the poor fit on him.

By supper, he had totally forgotten about the hat as he laughed and joked with Nunzio and the other passengers, when all of a sudden he felt it plucked from his head. He glanced over his shoulder to see Davies moving along, his hat returned it to its rightful position. He peered down at Clarence with an amused expression that teetered on annoyed.

\--------

Clarence was pleasantly surprised when he came to the communal area the next day and saw papers strewn about the table, and the boys sketching away. Edward Spratt had generously donated some papers and pencils and was off at the side, drawing in an armchair. Clarence joined the boys at the table.

"Hey. Do you like drawing?"

"Yeah. What's that?" Clarence took a peek at Davey's drawing.

"It's supposed to be a ship..."

"It's great!"

"No it's not." Davey grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Looks more like a bird." Roderick teased.

"Hey, leave him alone, what's your drawing supposed to be anyway?"

"A bird."

"Looks more like a ship!"

The three of them fell into relative silence as they sketched away. After several minutes, Davey glanced over Clarence's shoulder to see what he was drawing.

"Clare, what is that?! It's nightmarish!"

"Wow! And after he defended your art too!" Roderick laughed and also looked over. "Oh. It _is_ nightmarish."

Clarence looked down at his paper. What he had drawn was indeed something straight out of his nightmares, but he wished it could be only that. Knowing that these things were very much real and just below the waves was horrifying knowledge to have. Clarence would take blissful ignorance any day.

He wordlessly continued to draw. The crab rider still needed his spear, aimed up and right at Clarence.

Afterwards, he continued to wander about the ship. He was deep in thought when he passed by a few seamen huddled around a table. Clarence could recoginse the Peters brothers, as well as Alexander Booth and Malo Guéguan. The other two, he didn't know. The hushed tones immediately caught his interest.

"Tch. More like opium. All musicians nowadays are on it." Guéguan whispered.

Clarence was instantly hooked by the gossip, although he failed to make out anything else before he was noticed. All eyes turned to him.

Realising he'd been caught, he tried to play it cool. "Hi!" He said with a cheerful wave.

That only seemed to make things more awkward.

Clarence quickly moved along, but wondered what that was about. Who were they talking about? The only musician on board was Nunzio...?

\--------

"Yeah? Well I dare you to play Five Finger Fillet!"

"No way, I'd rather have to polish your shoes."

The conversation in the communal area had immediately piqued Clarence's interest and he came over to Peter and Davey.

"What's going on?"

"We're playing truth or dare." Davey told him, wearing a pout. "And these three apparently want to cause disaster!"

"That sounds fun. I wanna play. How do I play?"

"What? How do you not know how to play truth or dare?!" Thomas exclaimed.

Clarence bit his tongue. No way he was gonna tell them that he never had company his own age growing up.

"Well, it's easy." Charles said, and briefly explained the game to him. There wasn't much to explain and Clarence was quickly on board.

"Okay, then... give me a dare!"

The three midshipmen began to mutter among themselves.

"Do we start him off easy?"

"Nah."

"Aw, come on, it's his first time, you don't want him to stop after his first one, do you?"

"Fine. Uhh... Do a handstand." Peter smirked.

Clarence didn't hesitate. He flipped upside down, standing on his hands. It was easy enough, but he could tell by the looks of surprise on their faces that they didn't expect him to be able to. Then he felt fabric brush over his belly as his shirt began to slip, and he panicked to try and right himself only to lose his balance and fall flat on his back with a thud.

The midshipmen burst into laughter, doubling over and clapping their knees. The ruckus drew the attention of the officers who were attempting to enjoy a peaceful break.

"Ough, you alright, lad?" Davies called.

Clarence righted himself and brushed off his shirt. "Yes, sir!"

Davies shook his head in exasperation, wondering how he could shake it off so easy.

"Oh, to be youthful again, eh John?" Perrott chuckled.

Once Peter had regained his breath from laughter, he nudged Clarence impatiently, urging him to have his turn.

"Alright... Davey?"

"Again?" He sighed. "Truth. No way I'm taking a dare again."

"Ever had a sweetheart?"

Davey's pout said everything it needed to and the midshipmen were once again bursting their sides with laughter.

"Wh- hey!! Let me answer! I have! Totally!" He argued, but none of them were listening and continued to laugh. Once it died down, they were once again pressing for the game to carry on. Clarence just gave him an apologetic, yet amused look.

After a round of truths and dares, it was back to Clarence.

"Dare!" He said, eyes gleaming with determination.

"Attaboy!"

"Okay, dare you to... Flip off one of the seamen!" Said Thomas.

"No, no, wait, I got something better." Peter said, lightly slapping his shoulder and motioning for his boys to follow. He headed out, and the other two midshipmen followed. Clarence was close behind.

"Oh no..." Davey groaned. Still, he followed.

The gaggle of boys went up to the main deck, where much of the crew were still working. Clarence got a nudge in the shoulder from Peter.

"You know what to do, hat thief."

Clarence looked around. There was only one officer on shift right now, overlooking the crew working.

"The captain?"

Peter grinned ear-to-ear and nodded.

Davey gasped. "That's a terrible idea. Clare, you don't have to-"

"I'll do it."

"Yeah!" The three older teens cheered, but Davey gripped his hair.

"Don't-" He tried again, but the idiot had already seen his chance and took off.

Witterel barely acknowledged the little stomping approaching his way until it was too late. He began to turn as Clarence neared, only to see him leap up and swipe his fancy hat right off his head. Clarence sprung away, turning back to face him with a devilish smirk as he placed his prize upon his head.

"Wh-!! You little-!" Witterel stammered.

Clarence backed away, and could see behind Witterel the three midshipmen, losing their minds over the absolute daring move he just pulled. The crew also were shocked, and torn between trying to continue work and also watching the spectacle.

Witterel regained his composure and cleared his throat. He began to approach, eyes ablaze.

"Return my hat to me at once, you scoundrel." He growled.

Clarence only felt spurred on by the reaction of the midshipmen. "Nuh-uh! I'm the captain now!" He boasted, chest out. His arrogance only angered Witterel more, who took a lunge, which Clarence deftly bounced away from.

"Help! Mutiny!" He cried playfully.

Right as Witterel was about to attempt another grapple, Davies and Perrott came up to see what the fuss was about.

"Woah there sir, can't have you attacking our captain." Perrott said as he put a hand on Witterel's shoulder.

"Yeah, else we'll have to lock you up." Davies added, grinning. Nothing delighted the two of them more than to see Witterel with his panties in a twist.

Right as he was about to start yelling at them, the boisterous laughter of his wife cut him off, and Abigail came out from her cabin. "Robert, you behave yourself!" She scolded.

"Abigail!" He hissed in response.

Clarence was too busy laughing his little head off to react when Witterel reached out and finally got a grip on him.

"You won't be laughing when you're scrubbing the deck at 4 in the morning!" He growled.

Clarence puffed his chest out. "You can't do that! I'm a passenger."

"I damn well can. As soon as you step aboard my ship, you operate under my rules, do you understand?!"

Clarence wasn't sure if it was an empty threat or not but the possibility of it being real had him tamed. He meekly handed back the captain's hat, and it was snatched out of his hands.

Witterel turned to his mates, both grinning wide. "And you two better not push it, else you'll be scrubbing the decks too!"

They laughed as Witterel headed down for his break, and Perrott took over. Davies collected his steward and went to work down on the lower decks.

Clarence joined the midshipmen again, who were still giggly. Charles clapped his back.

"I can't believe you really did that."

"You're insane! Hahah!"

"Seriously, what goes on in your head sometimes..." Perrott added with a humoured chuckle.

"Absolutely nothing at all, sir!" Clarence boasted, earning another round of laughs from much of the crew.

Clarence grinned. Their approval made the scolding worth it. As did all the crew chatter and snickers about it that lasted throughout the day. But to top it all off, the mates continued to go out of their way to call Clarence captain, all while Witterel seethed.

\--------

He had a rude awakening the next morning as someone knocked on his cot.

"Up and at 'em."

Clarence only groaned and buried his head under his pillow. The seaman slapped his foot in response.

"Come on, captain said to get you up. It's Sunday Muster, so don't you dare screw up, lest you get us all in trouble."

With a whimper, Clarence slipped out of bed like his body had turned into liquid. He was barely conscious as he followed the group up to the main deck. The ship felt far busier than Clarence was used to and it didn't help that the only thing on his mind was sleep; he was in no state to focus weaving around all the activity and bumped into someone on more than one occurance.

Up on the main deck, the seamen began to scatter sand across the deck. Clarence closed his eyes as he stood, only to be startled awake again by someone slapping his back.

"Stay with us, lad. Here." The seaman, whom Clarence could only recognise the beanie of, thrust some sort of stone into his chest. "Get to scrubbin'."

Clarence looked at the stone, then up at the seaman, utterly confused. He was offered no explanation as he left him be, dropping onto his knees among the other seamen and got to scrubbing the deck down with the stones.

Clarence followed suit and joined the line.

It had only been 10 minutes in when his energy started to wane. Already he was lagging behind a full body's length away from the rest of the seamen.

"My knees hurt." He whined. The gritty sand was starting to graze his bare little knees.

"I'm tired." He sniffled.

"Quit your complaining."

"He's already out of breath, it's only been 10 minutes!"

Clarence whimpered and stopped, no longer able to find the energy. He sat and curled up, about to cry. This was torture!

The captain came up behind him. "You'll be doing tomorrow's scrubbing too if this isn't up to standards!" He warned.

Just before Clarence was about to start bawling, Davey came up to him. He rolled up his sleeves and took the holystone and got to scrubbing. Clarence blinked the wetness out of his eyes as he watched him in surprise. Davey's little smile was all it took to lift his spirits and make him feel a little less alone.

"Don't you have other work to be doing, Davey?" Witterel crossed his arms sternly.

"Mr. Davies gave me permission to go, sir."

"Hm." Witterel moved along.

Clarence crawled alongside Davey.

"Thank you."

"Just give me half your meat tomorrow, then we'll be even."

"Deal." Clarence said with a grin. He wasn't exactly eager to eat that anyway.

After a few minutes of watching him work and recovering his energy, Clarence took over again. He felt bad letting Davey take his punishment for him. He wiped his sweaty brow and unbuttoned his shirt, feeling hot despite the cold weather.

Davies soon came up, and he saw the two youngsters at the deck. He came to Witterel and spoke in hushed tones, but Clarence listened in anyway.

"Robert, don't you think that's enough? They're just children."

"What I think is that you're too soft on them. They'll never grow into men if they don't learn that their actions have consequences."

Davies scoffed. "They're 15. And Davey hasn't had much of a childhood, I suspect the same is true for Clarence."

"Why do you figure that? He comes from a rich family."

"It's a trend I've noticed. Boys who have been told to mature too fast always mature the slowest."

"Hm. Besides, I didn't punish your steward, he's doing that willingly."

"That so?"

Apparently, Clarence wasn't the only one eavesdropping.

"It's alright, sir. We'll do it. Right, Clarence?" Davey said.

Clarence turned and grinned. "Yeah." His arms and back ached, the stabbing pain in his chest amplifying, and a headache was starting to set in thanks to his disturbed sleep, but with Davey by his side to take over whenever he needed a break, he felt determined to face this punishment through. If, at the very least, so that he didn't leave Davey to clean up his mess.

As he turned to get back to scrubbing, he caught a glimpse of a shocked expression from Davey, who then quickly averted his eyes.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

Clarence was confused for a second until he remembered the bandages wrapped around his torso.

"Oh, don't worry about that, it's just covering up an old ugly scar." He said, looking down at himself, only to also be shocked.

His chest was covered in purple bruises. Focused all around his chest, at the edges of the tight bandages. When did that happen? How did that happen?

He just quickly turned his attention back to scrubbing. Hunched over the holystone like this, he hoped that nobody else would notice them.

After that hellish morning, Clarence went straight back to bed and took a long nap. He still woke up before his usual time, unrested after a terrible nightmare. 

Unable to sleep and bored out of his mind, he wandered about the ship. His friends were busy working and the passengers were chatting about boring, adult stuff. He supposed he could just wait in the communal area for them to get off shift.

"I swear, there's something up with that boy."

"I think you're just reading into things too much."

The hushed conversation from the second mate's cabin caught his interest as he walked past. He hung around at the door, listening in.

"He seems very polite to me."

"He's polite to everyone but me. You saw it yourself, he always says good morning to all the other officers."

"I'm pretty sure he just forgot your name. He forgot Hoscut's, too."

"You haven't seen the way he glares at me!"

The bosun's whistle, marking the next shift change, interrupted them. The loud noise spooked Clarence and he hurridely moved along, and it was a good call as the door opened a moment later. He stared intently ahead, at the communal area, trying to act natural.

He could feel Nichols boring a hole into his very soul.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Nichols indeed had his eyes on him.

He quickly looked forward again. _Shit!_ He shouldn't have glanced!

Thankfully, he didn't need to wait long for the stewards to join him again.

"Hey. Wanna finish those carvings?" Roderick suggested, and Clarence nodded. He reached for a new block of wood.

"What happened to the one you were working on?" Asked Davey.

Clarence just shrugged. "I destroyed it."

"What? Why? It was looking fine."

He shrugged again and got started on his new carving.

Unfortunately, right as they were getting into their activity, he heard the bosun's call once again. The stewards rose and waved to Clarence who could only pout and wish that their breaks lasted longer.

"Go on, I'll join you in a sec."

Perrott and Davies left with their stewards. Clarence was preoccupied with his carving when he sensed that someone was still with him. He looked up, and his eyes met the glare of Edward Nichols.

Alone.

With him.

Suddenly, he felt very unsafe.

"What's your problem, kid?"

"Uh--"

Clarence gulped. His eyes flitted to the hallway. It felt so far away, with Nichols between him and the exit.

"I don't- I don't know what--"

"Cut out the bullshit."

Nichols turned in his seat to face the boy full on. Clarence felt his body going stiff. Nichols had finally dropped the facade and Clarence was catching first-hand a glimpse into his true nature.

"You think I didn't notice? You think nobody noticed? How you're so polite to everyone but me. How you look at me like you want to strangle me. You're not exactly subtle, kid."

Clarence's heartbeat quickened as Nichols got up and had started to approach. He scrambled back until he bumped against the wall.

Nichols stopped and frowned in confusion. He's not sure what he even did to have Clarence so terrified, all he did was take a few steps closer. Last thing he wanted was the brat to start screaming.

Clarence steeled himself. It appeared like he had run out of time to plan. Nichols was onto him, and nobody on the ship would take his concerns seriously.

"I know what you're planning." He said, expression feigning bravery despite the waver in his voice. "And... I know it's going to go wrong! You shouldn't go through with it."

Nichols' expression was blank. Clarence couldn't read it, and that petrified him more than anything else.

He took a split second to glance over his shoulder, and then suddenly pounced.

Clarence struggled against his grip and opened his mouth to cry out, only for a hand to clamp over it. Both hands grabbed his arm to try and pull him away, but he was pinned down, and a chill shock travelled through his body as he felt the cold of a blade against his throat. Suddenly, he was very tame.

"Who told you? Hm??" Nichols pressed the blade harder against his skin, forcing some tears to escape from Clarence's eyes. "Was it the Russian bastards? Hm? Was it O'Hagan?!"

"N-nobody told me anything, sir!" Clarence squealed. Never before had he regretted a decision more than right now. _Should've kept my stupid mouth shut!_

Now, there was nothing he could do except change his angle and dig this hole deeper. Everything spilled out faster than Nichols could keep up. "I've seen everything! I'm just here to save you all! G-g-go ahead and take the stupid shell, I don't care a lick about it!"

"Shell?" Nichols tried to question against the onslaught of words falling out of Clarence's mouth.

"It'll fetch a pretty penny, but leave the Formosans! When you took-- when you take them, they'll break free and kill you all! Go ahead and take the shell but leave the Formosans, it isn't worth all your lives!" He pleaded.

Nichols' brow knitted, then reached for Clarence's case suddenly and clicked it open. Clarence tried again to struggle in panic as he snatched the catalogue away.

"Hush." Nichols commanded, sharp blade still pressed dangerously tight against his neck. Clarence whimpered and nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief once he withdrew the knife and flicked open the book.

Clarence could only watch as Nichols frowned, eyes flitting across the pages. He considered screaming for help, but what would it achieve? His death, for sure. At least everyone would finally see Nichols for who he is, and he'd be arrested before being able to capture the mermaids, right?

His own life, for the 60 or so lives on board the Obra Dinn?

Could he do it?

His voice locked up. His whole body, frozen against his will.

He could do nothing but watch as Nichols flicked through the pages of the catalogue, before stopping on one. He read this particular page more thoroughly, then scanned the next few pages. He then glanced over his shoulder, increasingly aware of how long he was missing from his shift.

Although Clarence's lie was hastily cobbled together, the more he thought about it, the more genius it was. Nichols would go off with the shell, get him and his gang killed, and without the Formosans there, they wouldn't be able to use the shell! The mermaids would retrieve it and they'd never have to summon the sea beasts for help! Plus, no innocents had to die for Nichols' mistake.

As long as everything went according to plan, that is.

Which, so far, all of Clarence's plans had crumbled rather quickly.

Nichols finally the returned the book to Clarence. He'd only had a few seconds to try and scan as much as he could, and Clarence could only hope he hadn't seen enough to unravel his lie.

"B-before you go... um..." Clarence gulped. "One... One day, delay the plan by one day, okay? I... I'll aid you."

He felt sick to the stomach even suggesting helping this bastard. That was the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing!

"Hm." Nichols straightened himself and sorted his uniform, then turned. He left Clarence with just one more threat.

"You spill anything about this, and I'll have you gutted, got it?"

Clarence nodded meekly.

For several moments, he just sat there with his back against the wall, utterly shocked at what just occured.

He wouldn't be joining Davey and Roderick in the communal area anymore.


	4. Injustice at Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarence handles his situation about as well as an idiot 15 year old can.

Clarence sat at his usual breakfast spot. There was naught to do now but wait for the mutiny. His fingers tapped anxiously against the cup of tea in his hands as he mulled about it. Had he done enough? Could he do anything at all?

He spotted Davies and Davey as they walked by, but Davey paused for a chat.

"Hey, Clare. Where were you yesterday?"

It was odd for Clarence to not join him on his break. It had been the most consistent part of his stay on the Obra Dinn. He merely shrugged.

"Are you busy?"

"Well, I'm on shift..."

They stared at each other for several seconds. "So, you're busy?"

"That generally tends to be what being on shift means, yes." Judging by the kicked-puppy look on his face, Davey figured the snarky response wasn't much appreciated.

Davies could see it too. "Davey, why don't you take your break early today?"

"Really, sir?"

"Mhm. Go ahead, I can finish up by myself." Davies left the two boys be.

Davey's delight at being gifted an early break was only hindered by the sadness his friend was feeling, so he sat next to him.

"What's wrong?" Davey whispered to Clarence.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Come on, something's wrong. You've been acting strange."

Clarence fidgetted. Why was he so bad at acting casual?

"N-no."

" _No?_ " Davey stared at him in concern. "How did you get those bruises?"

Clarence felt himself tense. Uh oh. He shrugged. "I got them before I came here."

"You think I can't tell the difference between old bruises and new?"

Clarence wasn't even aware that there was a difference. "I dunno- I guess- I had a tumble down the stairs."

"You _guess_ you had a tumble?"

Clarence gritted his teeth, getting sick of his interrogation.

"Yes! Just-! Shut up! Leave me alone!" He snapped. His regret was immediate once he saw the look of shock and hurt on Davey's face. He withdrew into himself, arms crossed over his body.

After a moment of quiet, Davey asked something that took Clarence completely by surprise.

"Was it Mr. Nichols?"

"What? No."

Davey paused. He hadn't been expecting such a quick and geniune response and he wasn't sure what to make of it. "You've been avoiding him, haven't you? That's why you didn't come with us yesterday?"

Clarence frowned and thought about it.

"I... um..."

Could he perhaps spin some sort of tale about being beaten by Nichols? If he could get him arrested, it would definitely solve all of his problems... 

"I don't..."

But time and time again he has proven to himself that he's a damn terrible liar. If he got caught trying to spin some tall tale like that, there's no doubt he would be the one thrown into the lazarette, and then he would be powerless to change anything.

Then he remembered Nichols' threat. The cold dagger pressed against his throat, cutting into his tender skin.

"I... just don't like him." He muttered. "He hasn't done anything to me."

He could tell that Davey still had his doubts, but at least his questions were quelled. Clarence felt a grip on his wrist and was pulled up out of his seat.

"Come on, Nichols won't be in the communal area with us today, he and Hoscut switch shifts every Tuesday and Thursday."

"Eh? Why are their shifts so complicated anyways, sometimes they're both there!"

Davey grinned and shook his head. "Captain likes time to spend with Hoscut. He's his brother-in-law, they're close."

_Sure. Close enough to try killing each other._

By the time Roderick had come to join them, Clarence had time to lighten up, and nothing seemed off. They had their spare papers splayed out on the table before them.

"You know, I tend to find it easier to draw things that I can see right in front of me. Maybe you two would find it easier too?" Clarence suggested.

"Uh, sure. Let's draw each other."

The three of them sat on the floor in a circle and absorbed themselves into their little project. Clarence found most comfort laying on his front, legs up in the air behind him and head propped up on his palm. Up until he didn't, and as much as he wanted to move, he was now stuck in this position because his friends needed the reference.

Roderick decided to go one step further. "Hold on, there should be a ruler around here somewhere..." He got up and, after rummaging through some drawers, managed to retrieve the desired tool. He sat back in the boy circle and attempted to draw a background.

"Heh, I sure am glad we didn't have these in school. We just had wooden ones." He joked, then aimed the ruler at Clarence. "Bet you never got hit with these, did you?"

Clarence frowned at the ruler like it had personally offended him. "I did. Every mistranslation, every off-note, every multiplication wrong... With metal, too! Sometimes."

"What? No way, you're rich though."

"Yes way! Look, I got marks still."

Davey was shocked at their conversation and how casual it all was to them. "Uh... At least I got paid to be in the factory. Can I see?"

Clarence reached out and allowed his scarred knuckles to be examined. Roderick also leaned in to see, and show off some of his own too.

"Your hands are so soft..." Davey commented. They were completely unlike his own; so rugged and used to work.

Clarence lost his voice for a moment, cheeks heating up. They both awkwardly withdrew their hands.

"Davey, can you fetch us another round of beers?" For once, it was the officers disturbing the steward's break and not the other way around.

"Right away, sir." Davey got up and brushed his knees down, eager to get away all of a sudden.

"Aren't you supposed to be on break?" Clarence whispered in protest.

Davey just shrugged. "Still gotta be ready to hop into work at any time. That's just being a steward."

Clarence also got up. "That's not fair."

"Please don't..." Davey whispered as he began to leave. Clarence followed, which both relieved and confused him.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing! Why do you act like I'm up to something shady?"

"Because you do real stupid stuff sometimes. Need I remind you about the hat incident?"

Clarence pouted. "Don't bring up the hat incident."

Davey continued on. Clarence still followed, and it was starting to worry him.

"Seriously, what are you doing?"

"Come on, four beers, two hands, do the math! Oh, right, you can't-"

"I can do four plus two!"

"That's not- anyways, I'm just going to help carry them."

"Hmm... Alright. Thanks."

Clarence waited obediently outside of the pantry for Davey to bring out two beers, then waited some more as he fetched another two. Once they were armed with their alcoholic beverages, they marched back to the communal area.

"Here you go, Mr. Witterel, Mr, Perrott." Clarence said softly. He hoped it would make up for the hat incident. Witterel didn't acknowledge him much.

"Why do you get two stewards, John?" Perrott joked.

"Hmph! Who said I was Mr. Davies' steward?" Clarence huffed, then smirked and swiped Davies' hat right off and plonked it down on Davey's head instead. He took a dramatic bow. "Anything else I can do for you, Mr. James?"

It was pretty clear to everyone at that point that the small bastard hadn't learned his lesson at all.

Davey chuckled as he sheepishly returned Davies' hat to him. "I've never been called "mister" before."

They both giggled, but as Clarence returned to the drawing circle, Davey trailed off.

"...Hey, Clare. How do you know my surname?"

"Huh? I'm pretty sure you told me it at some point."

"No, I didn't."

"Uhh... Then it was Roddy, I don't know."

Roderick glanced up from his paper. "What?"

"Anyways, get over here, I gotta finish this sketch. Come on!"

Davey silently took his seat again.

\--------

The next day, Clarence once again avoided the communal area. He missed being able to hang out with Davey. Well, and Roderick, too. But at least, they could hang out at evening instead. For once, Clarence let Nunzio own the stage alone.

"You're not gonna play today?" Davey asked.

"No. Wrist is feeling a bit stiff, heh." Clarence grinned and showed it off. It clicked with every movement. Nunzio seemed more concerned than humoured.

"You're a little young to be getting joint problems."

Clarence just shrugged. "Life of a musician, I suppose?"

"Aw. I like when you play. You're really good." Davey pouted. Clarence beamed at the compliment. On spur of the moment, he pulled Davey in to dance as Nunzio began to play.

Davey cried out with a laugh. "Ah! No, I don't know how to dance!"

"I don't care! Come on, just have fun!" Clarence urged, hands still on his wrists. With no choice, Davey danced along with him.

Once he relaxed, Clarence found him a pretty decent dancer. And that joy on his face as he let his worries melt away and just enjoy the sweet music from Nunzio's fiddle... he found himself unable to look away.

Time began to escape them. Davey failed to notice as the crew began to dwindle, night drawing near. As their energy waned, they sat on the quaterdeck away from the others to catch their breath and chat.

Eventually, Davey realised how tired he was. "I should go to bed."

"No, stay with me, just a bit longer?" Clarence pleaded, reaching for his wrist.

"Alright. Only for a little bit though, I have to get up at 4, you know. We can't all stay in bed all day like princes."

"Hush!" Clarence elbowed him with a laugh, and Davey playfully elbowed back.

They settled and looked out at sea. The gently waves rolling, and the creak of the ship around them, it surprised Clarence just how peaceful sailing could be at times after everything he had witnessed recently.

He turned his gaze to the side, looking at Davey. He hadn't noticed him, and was continuing to stare out at sea. It was a comfortable quiet, a time to reflect. Together. Clarence felt at ease, but something else stirred in his chest. His eyes turned downward, at his hand flat against the deck, inches away from Davey's. It crept closer.

He hesitated, then gulped and closed the distance. His pinky finger tapped against Davey's and he held it there, and intensely stared away at nothing. He felt Davey's glance, and he tensely ignored it, acting as natural as he could- as if the movement were no more than an accident.

Davey crossed his pinky over Clarence's, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He finally looked back at him, only to see him also averting his gaze.

They sat there, unmoving, for several minutes. Clarence's heart pressed him to go further, but his body froze every time he made an attempt to do anything. Eventually, he began to feel a tremble against his shoulder.

"Are you cold? Let's head down." Clarence whispered. Davey nodded and stood, then offered a hand to help Clarence, which he shyly took. "Stay up with me a little longer? Please?"

Davey smiled and rolled his eyes. "Hmm... Alright. Only because you asked so nicely."

With a giggle, the two of them scampered down to the orlop deck. Most of the crew were trying to get some sleep at this point, so they made sure to be as quiet as they could in their excitement.

Clarence pulled Davey behind the curtain to his cot. Davey was a little anxious by this at first, but the snoring of the Formosan guard reassured him that they weren't disturbing him. Clarence climbed up onto his cot and sat with his legs over the edge, then patted the spot next to him. Davey sat next to him.

They continued to whisper and giggle about whatever came to mind, when the sound of voices gave them pause. They were quiet, but undeniably on the orlop deck.

The two boys fell silent for a moment, before Clarence leant out of bed and peeked out from behind the curtain. He saw the Russian group, setting down nearby to play cards. He was surprised to see them up at this time, but presumed they had come down here in order to not disturb the other sailors.

"It's the Russians." He whispered to Davey.

"At this time? They're gonna be tired tomorrow. Speaking of, I really should go..."

Clarence grinned and grabbed his wrist. "Wait. Let's play a prank."

Davey was hesitantly intriguied. "How...?"

"Watch."

Clarence smirked and waited a few seconds, then called out a simple, soft "hello". The voice that came out of his mouth was not his own, rather that of a girl's. Davey was surprised, to say the least.

The Russians must have also been surprised. Their chattering had ceased completely. They were too far away to make out any whispers, but Clarence could imagine the hushed questions.

Davey put a hand over his mouth and giggled. "Say something else!"

Clarence switched to Russian, to really grab their attention.

" _(Hello.)_ "

It certainly worked. It lured out one of the Russians, who grabbed a lantern and began to approach.

" _(Hello? Who is there?)_ " He grunted, his steps light and cautious.

The two boys tried to silence their giggles as they watched the shadow pass by the drapes. Clarence tried to think of the best thing to say. Something to really spook him.

"Behind you~" He whispered.

The Russian sailor swore and darted off up the stairs, and they couldn't restrain their giggles anymore.

Once Davey had caught his breath again, he asked him something. "How do you do that?"

"What? The voice? Oh, I had voice training."

"Voice... training? Like, you sang in a choir? Or did theatre?"

"Uhh... yeah." Clarence said awkwardly. Davey wasn't sure what he was saying yes to.

They continued to chat and giggle throughout the night, tucking under the blanket at either side of the cot to keep warm. Perhaps they got a bit too comfortable, because soon, they were both snoozing.

"Damn...!"

The fidgetting in his bed startled Clarence awake and he looked wide-eyed at Davey. The other boy quickly, yet quietly climbed down from the cot and took a cautious peek out from behind the curtain. After a moment of checking the way was clear, he dashed out.

Clarence just blinked a couple of times, then lay back down. It was too damn early for whatever that was and was swiftly snoring again.

\--------

Clarence went about his usual route after getting up, saying good morning to the Formosan royals- who tended to hang around their cots at this time, and then to any working sailors he happened to pass by as he went to the other passengers. He never made it to his destination, as a whistle drew his attention.

Dr. Evans motioned him over with a finger, and Clarence tilted his head in confusion, then perked up.

"A word, Clarence?"

He nodded eagerly and followed him into the surgery. He pondered in excitement at what new information Evans had for him. Had he realised something that could help him uncover the mystery of the lazarette? Or was struck with a genius idea to solve all of his problems?

Evans closed the door behind Clarence. "I've heard you're hiding an injury."

Clarence went tense. "...Huh?"

"May I see?"

"I... don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Because Davey came to tell me about some worrying bruises on your chest and trouble breathing, and I don't see why he would lie to me."

Clarence held his arm and looked away. His disappointment was immesurable. How could Davey betray his trust like this?

"Sit down for me, Clarence."

He was hesitant, but his manners took precedent and he sat on the patient bed.

"It's nothing, Dr. Evans. Really."

"Let me see then. Take off your shirt."

Clarence squirmed in discomfort. His eyes pleaded Dr. Evans for mercy but he was impervious to the puppy eyes.

With a sigh, Clarence relented and pulled his top off over his head. He stared intently at the wall, arms crossed defensively over his chest. As Evans came closer to examine the bruises, Clarence leaned away.

"What are the bandages for?"

"Just- uh, covering old scars. It's nothing." He murmured.

Clarence gritted his teeth as Evans ran a finger along the rim. "They're on far too tight. That's probably what's causing the bruising. I can put them on properly for you." However, as he reached out to undo them, Clarence flinched away. He withdrew, hands up. "Alright, alright, settle down. I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable."

Clarence relaxed only slightly as Evans gave him some room to breathe. But he could do without the scrutinising staring.

Evans leaned against the wall, fingers on his chin. As far as he could tell, there was no need reason to doubt him. No discolouration of the bandages, no foul smell, nothing that he could see that would indicate any fresh wounds. "Whatever your reasons are for wearing them, try to put them on a bit looser, alright? And take them off at night at well- give your ribs a break."

Clarence nodded and was hasty to put his shirt back on. "May I leave, sir?"

"You may. Thanks for stopping by."

At dinner, Clarence was eating alone. He was once again considering trying to weave a fabrication about Nichols. Weighing the risk of the chance of failure and the punishment against the potential desired outcome. It was tempting for sure. He's already got the bruises to "prove" it. And he could get Dr. Evans in on it too. But, every time he tried to delve deep into making a plan, the memory of Nichols' blade against his throat had him terror-striken. What to do...?

A conversation pulled him out of his thoughts.

"A ghost, you say?" A snort. "You've lost your minds."

" _(No, no,)_ we all heard it!"

" _(Yes!)_ "

Clarence glanced up. Ghosts, on board the Obra Dinn? As if the ship wasn't dealing with enough supernatural already? Ah, wait a moment. He hid his smirk behind his bread.

His train of thought stopped at Davey station. He wanted to see him again. He would soon go meet up with him again, later that evening.

"Claaare? Hellooo?"

The hand in front of his face snapped him out of his internal debate.

"Huh?"

"Come on, stop acting so weird."

"Sorry. I'm tired." He muttered.

Davey pouted at him. "I wonder why! Staying up so late all the time. I got reprimanded too."

"Sorry..." Clarence averted his eyes and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. For a moment, they just sat in silence.

"Do you get nightmares every single night?"

"Huh?"

"Sometimes I hear you tossing about when I pass by in the morning. Also, you kicked me in the face too." Clarence withdrew even further, feeling worse at every second. He really was nothing but a constant burden. "Have you gone to see Dr. Evans?"

Clarence rubbed his eyes. "Mhm. Couldn't do anything... Speaking of." Clarence shot a look his way. "Why did you tell him about my bruises?"

Davey crossed his arms defiantely. "Because the ship's surgeon has to keep a record of all injuries and illness on board. Also, I'm worried about you. Isn't that reason enough?"

Clarence didn't respond to him.

The two of them were alone in the cargo hold. Nichols had been with the other mates in the communal area, so Davey had offered to meet Clarence during the evening. Alone. The cargo hold seemed like a good place to get away from everyone else.

"I'm... here, you know."

Clarence cocked an eyebrow at him. "I noticed."

Davey sighed. "Come on. I mean... I'm here if you want to talk about anything."

He expected more than silence. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are."

"Well, something's been bothering you. I'm worried about you. Please talk to me."

Clarence looked away. There was nothing he could say to him. The whole ship probably already thought he was strange enough, if he tried to let the truth out he didn't doubt that he'd be considered insane. He caught a glimpse of Davey's downcast expression and he felt awful leaving him in the dark like this. The last thing he wanted was Davey to think that he didn't trust him. That... they weren't as close as Clarence wanted them to be.

"I'm sorry. I can't talk about it now." He reached for his hand and took it, fingers intertwining. "Later. I promise. I'll tell you all about it." Davey's mouth was ajar, eyes fixated on their hands. When he tried to look up into his eyes again, Clarence was already leaning in for a hug. Their hands separated, but instead they held each other, tight in a warm embrace. Clarence's eyes drifted shut. He felt warm. He felt stable.

Clarence didn't want to let go, but he hesitantly loosened his grip as he felt Davey pull away. "Davey... This voyage has been a living nightmare for me. But you make it worthwhile."

He saw Davey's face go pink. His heart thumped. Oh no, that was adorable.

"Clare..." Davey let out softly, before promptly losing all vocabulary as Clarence once again drew near, but this time, leading with his face rather than his arms.

Clarence felt a hand on his shoulder. Rigid, stopping him right where he was. A tense coil formed in his chest. Had he misread this? Eyes, focused on Davey's face, trying to read his emotions. A hasty glance over his shoulder, the bite of a lip... He closed the remaining distance suddenly, and Clarence's breath was stolen.

He had barely any time to react when Davey pulled away again. So sweet, yet so, so short. Clarence, stunned, merely watched as Davey glanced around once more. He relaxed once he saw they were in the clear, and his smile brought Clarence back down to earth.

They both tried to search for the words they wanted to say, but in the end, all they could do was giggle. Fingers intertwining once more, they sat shoulder-to-shoulder and chatted the rest of the night away, until eventually Davey reluctantly pulled away to head off to bed. Clarence didn't want to get him in trouble for being late again, so he let him go with a wave that yearned for more.

Later that night, Clarence would find himself laying awake for hours, unable to sleep. But, unlike other nights, it was not due to nightmares, rather thoughts of Davey. How he craved to have him here right now to snuggle up warm to him, how he craved their kiss could have lasted longer...

\--------

The next evening, Roderick had come to join the two boys on the main deck. Clarence didn't mind his presence in the slightest, he was fun to be around. Besides, surrounded by so many people, it's not like he and Davey would be missing out on any private moments.

There was a spot of rain on the wind, and aside from the old man Edward Spratt, it appeared like Clarence was the only one feeling it. He left the boys with a cheerful wave and skipped away to warmer decks.

He prowled around the gun deck, where the crew not spending their break on the main deck chose to hang out instead. He chatted briefly with Wasim and Akbar, and was about to move deeper down the decks when a voice called for him.

He turned towards the group of sailors, playing some sort of card game as they drank together. Clarence had since managed to identify the old man that gave him the ship's biscuit as George Shirley by order of elimination.

"Yes, Mr. Shirley?" He asked as he came over. Shirley patted the empty space of bench next to him, so Clarence obediently sat next to him.

"I know your name, because everyone's talking about you, but I'm surprised you know mine. Who's been talking about me, eh? All good things, I hope?"

Clarence gave him a concerned glance. People are talking about him? What?

"Anyways, I see you talking to those Indian fellows frequently. You seem like a good lad. Do you speak any Chinese?" Shirley asked, tilting his head towards the Chinese sailors he was playing with.

"Um, not much, sir."

"Can you say "good evening", at least?"

Clarence nodded and demonstrated. Shirley grinned and patted his back.

"Why don't you join us?"

"Um, I don't know how to play."

"Ah, here, I'll help you out then." He dealt Clarence a hand, and he was too polite to refuse it at this point.

Clarence looked at his hand. He had no idea if it was a good hand or not. After following some instructions by Shirley, he played his turn.

"You speak a lot of languages, don't you Clarence?" One of the Chinese men asked. Clarence hadn't been able to identify any of the Chinese men's names. In fact, this whole friend group had given him a lot of headache during his investigation.

"Yes. French, Italian, German... _(Chinese. A little.)_ "

"And Formosan?"

Clarence looked at this one. He may not know his name, but he knew that face very clearly from Nichols' band of mutineers. He didn't much like this particular Chinese man.

"I've seen him chatting to them sometimes." Said another. This one met his end at the strike of a lightning bolt. God, the smell of charred human flesh came back to Clarence faster than the image.

Shirley chuckled. "Someone's well-educated, huh! Well, that's good, speaking all those languages, I mean." He clapped Clarence's back hard enough to almost send him through the table. "You know, I've been sailing for years, met all sorts of people. I've learned that it doesn't matter where you come from, there's no man greater than any other."

Clarence listened without opening his mouth.

"I sure wish I could speak as many languages as you! Hahah, bet you don't know how to swear though, do you?"

Clarence looked at him in shock. Shirley laughed at his expression, then nudged him with his elbow. "It's your turn, by the way."

"Oh. Uh..." Clarence looked at his hand and then the cards at the table. He took only a second to think and played a card, then looked up at Shirley for approval, who only gave a smirk. Clarence couldn't tell if it was a good play or not.

One of the Chinese leaned forward. "Hey, Clarence. Say " _(fuck off.)_ ""

Clarence tilted his head. " _(Fuck... off?)_ " He could immediately tell by all the laughing that he said something rude for sure.

"Come on! With your chest now! _(Fuck off!)_ " Shirley cackled.

" _(Fuck off!)_ " Clarence grinned. Normally, he would be far more hesitant to say such foul language around other people, but maybe it's because it was in an unfamiliar language that made it fun. Or perhaps that he was being actively encouraged to do it.

"There we go! Your first swear in another language!"

"Actually, I think I know another. _(Bastard)_ , which, um, I can only assume means... bastard, it sounds pretty similar." Clarence began to mumble the latter part of his sentence.

"French, eh? Oh, I bet you got that one from Malo, didn't you?"

"Oh, right, when you almost punched his lights out!" A Chinese man said and the others began to laugh again. Clarence shrunk into his seat, the weight of guilt and humiliation still clinging on his shoulders.

"Hah! Henry had to sew the poor man back together, you tore him apart!"

"He still hasn't recovered from it!"

Shirley noticed that Clarence wasn't laughing along. "Hey, it's alright. From what I heard, it's his own fault for grabbing at you like that. Who grabs someone while they're in a nightmare and doesn't expect a whack?"

"He's quick to anger, that one."

"More like always angry, am I right?!" More laughter went around the table.

"You know, last Friday I caught him up to something suspicious." Said the mutineer, arguably the most suspicious person at this table currently.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he was down in the lazarette, late at night."

Clarence perked up.

"The lazarette? What was he doing down there?"

"I don't know. I made a noise and he almost spotted me, so I got out of there."

Clarence was silent, listening very intently, however the Chinese men had nothing more to say on the matter other than baseless speculation.

The missing fates in his catalogue were starting to drive Clarence mental. Nearly every name was filled out by now, but Clarence felt like he was still missing a vital piece of the story. What if his plan to stop Nichols' failed? He needed a back-up plan, and he needed to know what happened in the lazarette.

Just before leaving them, he made sure to catch their names.

Most of the crew were still up on the higher decks enjoying the last hours of their day. It was the perfect time to go snooping. He crept all the way down to the lowest deck and to the lazarette.

A month ago, during his original investigation, Clarence was only able to catch a glimpse through the bars. Now, there was nothing stopping him from simply entering. The door was unlocked, and there was nary a soul in sight.

There was absolutely nothing of interest in there.

The three water storage chambers- where the mermaids were imprisoned, and the chains on the floor was all there was. Clarence came inside and searched more thoroughly, scouring every crack for a hint on what happened here, when the door creaked behind him. He spun and saw a shadowy figure entering the lazarette after him.

Clarence froze.

Was it Nichols, here to silence him?

The figure went to the first chamber and opened it up. It appeared like Clarence had yet to be noticed. Upon closer inspection, the man before him was definitely not Nichols. The missing hat alone should have been clue enough, but the man was also heavily tattood on his arms.

"What are you doing?" Clarence asked, but his only response was what he could only assume was a whole heck of a lot of French cussing.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Malo Guéguan hissed.

"S-sorry, sir, I didn't mean to startle you." Clarence glanced down at his feet. "But also, I asked first!"

He leant in to peer into the water of the chamber Guéguan opened. He could see small movements under the water's surface.

"Shrimp? You keep shrimp on this ship?"

"Shh! Not so loud, brat!"

Clarence huffed at the man twice his size. "You're very rude, you know that?"

"You're not the one who had your shoes ruined." He grumbled in response.

Clarence fidgetted again. "I-I said sorry..."

"Sorry don't pay for new shoes!"

Clarence quickly changed the subject. "Anyways, why are there shrimp here?"

Guéguan sighed deeply. "They're mine. Don't you go telling anybody about them else everyone's going to be running for them!"

Clarence's confusion only grew. "What?"

"Me and the boys have a deal. We keep the shrimp a secret from everyone else, and we get to enjoy a good meal every now and then."

"That's rude! Why don't you share?"

"If everyone knew, they'd be gone in a week, that's why!"

Clarence pouted, then pondered over his words. "You and the boys... That being Mr. Miner and Mr. Sefton?"

"And a couple others... Seriously, keep your damn mouth shut about this."

"Fine. I promise, Mr. Guéguan."

"Good." Guéguan then went and scooped some of the shrimp up with a small net and stuffed them away into a box. He left, but not before carefully checking around the cargo hold for any more snoopers.

Clarence was so fascinated by the secret shrimp plot that he had uncovered that, for a moment, he had forgotten what he came down for in the first place.

Is that how Guéguan died? He came down to get shrimp and somehow wasn't aware of the captured mermaids- or worse, ignored the risks?

Surely no-one could be that dumb, right?

Then again, Clarence had already seen some pretty idiotic deaths on board the Obra Dinn.

\--------

The very next day, Clarence would learn the hard way that shrimp wasn't the only thing that Guéguan kept down in the lazarette.

"Can I eat with you today?" Clarence asked Davey, who smiled shyly.

"Sure."

The two lads went off to collect their dinners from Sefton. Davey, however, stopped by for a chat, asking about his day and other boring things that Clarence paid little attention to. He didn't know how Davey could get along with Sefton, that man was nothing but arrogant and annoying.

A tingle in his pocket led him away from the conversation anyway. There was a corpse nearby, and the Memento Mortem was drawing him towards it. There, on the counter. A limp, slimy form lay on a cutting board.

A tentacle was draped over the edge.

Clarence's blood went cold.

Davey eventually noticed something was off with Clarence when he tried to ask him something, only to get nothing in response. His eyes were wide, hands trembling slightly. Something was definitely wrong.

"Clare? Are you alright?" Davey came and took his wrist. Clarence flinched away. "Clare?" Davey was growing increasingly concerned and looked to what had him so spooked.

"It's just a squid, Clarence. Have you never seen a squid before?" He told him gently, trying to take a hold of his wrist again. He didn't recoil this time, but Davey could feel how rigid his body was. He looked to Sefton, confused. "Why is there a squid here? How did you get a squid?"

Sefton came over to the cutting board and lifted the limp creature up. "Nevermind that. You scared of a little squid? Look, it's not even alive-" He said, thrusting it towards Clarence.

Flight overtook fright. His plate clattered to the ground, and Clarence was out of the door.

Sefton's laughter followed him out, as well as the dismayed cry of "Mr. Sefton!" from Davey.

Clarence scampered down to the cargo hold and buried himself among the crates and barrels. He sobbed, even after the irrational terror began to die down, because he acted like such a fool in front of the boy his heart yearned for.

Nobody came to look for him.

Eventually, after everyone had gone to bed, he sulked out to hunt down some leftovers.

"Check around, just in case."

The voice made him stop. Curiously, he crept towards it. He stepped on a loose board which loudly announced his presence.

"Who goes there?"

Well, no use sneaking now. Clarence approached. "Mr. Perrott? What are you doing here at this time? Oh, and Mr. Davies too?"

"Uh-"

"Inspection."

"Oh, alright. Wait. You're not usually up at this time?"

Davies whispered something to Perrott. What was that? _We should just leave?_ Clarence tilted his head, unsure if he heard that right.

"And you are? No wonder you sleep all day, ahah."

Clarence pouted at them both. "I didn't used to..." He tried to defend himself, then shook his head- what did it matter anyway. "I'll leave you to your inspection. I don't want to get in the way." He sought out some dinner, finally.

Only when he was filling his empty stomach did he ponder about how strange that encounter was.

\--------

He was too humiliated to face Davey the next day. Besides, he was increasingly aware of how little time he had to act. Still torn on what to do, Clarence escaped the evening rabble and went down to the cargo hold to try and think. However, he was almost immediately accosted by Samuel Peters.

"Ah, Clarence! Perfect timing. Come join us."

"Huh?"

With a curious tilt in his head, he followed Peters, where a group of sailors were gathered around a barrel. His brother Nathan, Alexander Booth, Nicholas Botterill, as well as his Indian friends William Wasim and Abraham Akbar. Samuel sat among the men and motioned Clarence in, so he found a space on the floor.

"I wanted to properly thank ya for saving me back then. Never quite got around to it." Samuel grabbed a jug and tapped the barrel to pour him a glass and hand it over. Clarence could tell what it was from the smell alone.

"Oh, no, sir, it's not necessary, I really don't like-"

"No, no, go ahead, it's rude to turn down a drink!"

Well, in that case... Clarence scowled as he sipped the drink, and forced himself to power through the vile taste and burn in his throat. After his first gulp, he really didn't want another, but couldn't turn down a generous gift.

"Wait, this isn't stolen, is it? Where'd you get that barrel?" He asked, suddenly remembering his misadventures in the pantry. The group laughed.

"Stolen?! No, boy, this is our week's worth of grog rations! We've been saving them up for a special day."

"Are you allowed to do this?"

"No, but you won't tell, will you?"

"No, sirs." Clarence muttered. He didn't want to be a brat.

Nathan clapped his shoulder. "Good lad."

The group began to chatter among themselves, about their day and their work. Clarence had little to say to them, but he did wonder what they were all doing together. As far as he was aware, Wasim and Akbar weren't really close to any of the other sailors. And he never really noticed any sort of friend group with the Peters brothers, Booth and Botterill. Although, he was certainly no expert on the inner workings of everyone's relationships on this ship. And even if he was, maybe saving Samuel's life had some changes.

Clarence was half-way done with his drink when Botterill got his attention. "Fast drinker, aren't you?" If he were being honest, Clarence just wanted to finish this vile drink as quickly as he could and move along.

"Ey, what time is it?" Nathan asked.

Clarence was staring at his drink, paying little attention, when he realised that the group had fallen silent. He glanced up and saw them all staring expectantly at him. "Hm? Oh, I don't know. Sorry."

He saw some glances being shared. Nathan motioned to him. "Eh? What about that fancy watch you're always looking at?"

"Uh-" Clarence panicked. "I don't- it's broken, sorry."

"You look at it a lot for somethin' that's broken."

"It happened recently."

"Ahh, I see, makes perfect sense, right lads?" Samuel grinned. A few murmurs and nods went around.

Clarence narrowed his eyes and finished his drink. He could be thankful that it was watered down, at least- the beer wasn't as strong as it could have been. Right as he was about to say his goodbyes, his jug was taken, filled, and thrusted back towards him.

"Ah- thank you, but-"

"Hush, no need to thank us, you saved my life." Samuel said. "Go on, enjoy it. We saved up just for this!"

Clarence sighed softly through his nostrils and continued to drink. His apprehension was beginning to loosen. By the time he was half done with this drink, he was starting to feel a faint, pleasant buzz. Is this what it felt like to be drunk? He wasn't sure. He'd never touched alcohol before in his whole life.

The others began to loosen up too. Many drinks were passed around, but it would take more than that to have an effect on these hardened sailors.

"And then- you wouldn't believe this, he said to her, "Are you a steam engine? Because you're classy, and I want a ride."" Samuel Peters howled in laughter. "And then- and then, just like that, she turned up her nose and walked off!" The group laughed along while Nathan groaned into his palm.

"Nathan, how did you manage to screw that one up?! Classy ladies need something more than a cheap line, you should've gotten a card!" Botterill snorted and shook his head.

Clarence couldn't help but giggle too.

"Oh, you found that one funny, did ya?" Samuel grinned. He soon passed over a third drink to him. "Getting fuzzy already? You get drunk fast."

"Good. Means more for us..." Botterill muttered, then grunted as he recieved an elbow in the rib.

Clarence found himself starting to enjoy the drinks. He could see the appeal. By the time he was done with his third, he was feeling wonderful. His fourth was starting to taste good. He began to engage more in their conversations.

"Hey, Clarence, what's that book you've always got your nose in?" Wasim asked him suddenly.

"Book.... Secret- hic- secret journal."

"Full of secrets, eh?" Nathan asked, and Clarence nodded. "What kinds?"

"Secret secrets." Clarence began to giggle again. Something about that phrase had tickled his sides.

"Can we take a look?"

"Hmm, no~"

"Hey, how did you know those ropes were going to snap?" Booth asked.

It took Clarence a few seconds to realise which ropes he was talking about. "Umm... I heard- no, saw them... fraying."

"Really? Because as I recall, you were staring at me the whole time. Then suddenly, it was like you were possessed, just ran out and tackled him."

Clarence giggled again. "Maybe I was possessed... By the ghost of the Obra Dinn, heehee~"

The group eyed each other and muttered. "Ghost?"

"The Russians were yammerin' about something like that..."

"Is there a ghost on board, Clarence?"

Clarence was in a fit of laughter. "Yes! The ghost is me, I tricked them."

"Oh."

Wasim could see this conversation going nowhere, so he changed the topic. "How did you know my friends were dying?"

Clarence paused for a second, thinking. "They were coughing."

"Yes, but, you knew before then, didn't you?" Clarence shook his head but Wasim continued on anyway. "You brought them water. You brought them blankets."

Clarence just shrugged. "So?"

The men stared at each other for a few seconds. Clarence just giggled and slowly wobbled up onto his feet. He almost stumbled, but Akbar caught his arm and helped steady him. "Thank- hic! I'm going now. I had something to do!" If only he could remember what that was.

He wandered off, and the group didn't stop him.

After several minutes, he found himself in the communal area. The main deck was still too busy and the cargo hold was having its own party. The communal area, however, was empty aside from Martin Perrott, staring out one of the portholes. Clarence plonked himself down on the couch and the creak of leather drew his attention.

"Ah, Clarence, there you are. Davey's been asking about you all day. How are you?"

"I feel great, sir." He responded with a grin.

Perrott came to sit with him. "Are you sure?" He asked. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Clarence sliding up closer was definitely not it.

"You're so nice to me." He hiccuped. "You're so handsome. I wish I could grow a beard like that."

Perrott crept away. "Clarence, are you-?" He sniffed. "How are you drunk?"

"I didn't steal, it was a gift, promise."

"Who got you drunk?"

Clarence giggled and shook his head. "They didn't steal either, it- it was their... their rations, yeah."

Perrott pinched his forehead and groaned. "Tell me who it was."

"Nuh-uh! They'll get in trouble, won't they? My lips are- hic- sealed!" As he tried to lean in again, Perrott stood.

"Come on, time for you to go to bed."

"Whu?! Noo, it's too early." Clarence whined.

"Come on, up, now."

With a pout, he obeyed and got up. The rocking of the ship wasn't helping his afflicted stability as he stumbled around, but Perrott grabbed onto his arm to help. Clarence wiggled free and reached for Perrott's hand, only for his wrist to be grabbed instead.

Coming up the stairs had been one task, but going down was a whole nother story. Perrott led him carefully down one step at a time, when a badly-timed stumbled happened to line up with the tilt of the ship, and Clarence fell right into Perrott.

"Urp..."

"Please don't throw up over me, Clarence." Perrott sighed softly.

Finally, they made it off the stairs, and off to the passenger sleeping area. "Which one is yours?"

Clarence pointed, and Perrott dragged him over. "Can you get up on your own?" Clarence grabbed his cot and tried to pull himself up. Perrott sighed deeply, then grabbed the boy's sides and hauled him up. The comfort of his pillow invited Clarence into a very quick sleep.

\--------

The next morning was spent nursing his headache. The midshipmen, unfortunately, took to bullying him after hearing about his drunken endevours. He was at least thankful that Perrott kept his mouth shut about his attempted flirtations. He could go the rest of his life quite happily if only he could forget that utter humiliation he put himself through.

He noticed that the group responsible had been reprimanded. He figured Perrott must have gone down investigating and caught them in the act. He hoped they didn't think he had ratted on them, especially after he promised not to.

Come time for the steward's break, Davey hunted him down. Clarence gave him an awkward smile- there was no escaping him now.

"Clare, where were you yesterday?" There was a slight whine in his voice that had Clarence's emotions in a vice. Davey had no doubt been worried about him. And while it felt nice to be cared about, he also felt guilty.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you would... Shall we go down to the cargo hold?"

Davey nodded, and off they went. On the way, Clarence felt Davey's hand brush against his own. "Didn't think I would what, Clare?" Davey whispered.

They retreated to the cargo hold. "I don't know. I made a fool of myself. I must have embarrassed you." Davey finally took his hand, but Clarence couldn't meet his eyes.

"I looked all over for you. Where did you even run off to?" Surprised, Clarence looked at him.

"You did?"

"Of course I did!" Davey leaned into him, head against his shoulder, and Clarence only felt worse about avoiding him.

Wordlessly, he gently pulled Davey into a hug, who responded with fervor. When Clarence withdrew, he wore a smile on his face. His hands moved up to Davey's cheeks and he felt them heat up under his fingers. After a few anxious glances around, they shared another tender kiss. Lasting only a second longer before Davey started to pull away, Clarence lingered, clinging to him for just a moment longer, before finally separating.

"Davey, don't worry about me. I'm fine." He whispered to him. "Let's meet again tomorrow, on your break."

"Of course." Davey responded without hesitation. At the same time, Clarence stroked over cold metal in his pocket. He drew out the Memento Mortem and took a peek. He could feel Davey's curious staring, but he said nothing as the watch disappeared into his pocket again.

Clarence returned his attention to Davey and grinned. He draped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him in for a cuddle. They both giggled, until Davey held a hand over his nose.

"You stink."

"Hoh!" Clarence put a hand to his chest. "I- I've been bathing! I've only got one set of clothes, it's not my fault." He huffed at him and turned his nose away in mock offence.

"Do you need to borrow some clothes? I've got spare uniforms."

"Oh, now you're going to dress me up as a steward and set me to work? Am I getting paid for this at least?"

Davey giggled and nudged him. "Is hand-holding an acceptable currency?"

"Hmm, alright~"

\--------

First thing Clarence did once he opened his eyes in the morning was open the Memento Mortem and check the hands. He had been checking it more frequently now- almost obsessively, as the hands drew nearer to Nunzio's death.

Today was the day. He could tell. Come night, the hands would be right in position, and if he didn't do something about it, Nunzio would die.

That is, assuming Nichols ignored his advice to delay the mutiny by a day. He doesn't really expect that he would listen to him, not after their tense encounter.

Clarence went through the day as usual. He was quiet at evening, clinging to Nunzio even as he chatted about boring adult stuff with the other passengers. Once all the others began filtering away to bed, Clarence dragged Nunzio to the quaterdeck. They sat together and gazed out at the inky waves, stretching as far as the eye could see. Nunzio was the first to speak.

"You seem down today. Are you homesick?"

Seriously, even after he tried so hard to act natural?! But as he pondered about the question, he looked down at the gentle waves. He had always dreamed of escaping, of being able to be his own man and not live in the overbearing shadows of his parents. But this situation made him realise how much he would kill just to go home. He wondered if they missed him. He wondered if they even knew he was gone.

He brought a knee up and rested his cheek on it. Despite the non-answer, Nunzio got all the information he needed. He patted his back.

Clarence looked at him again. "Let's play something." He opened up his case and took his accordion out.

"Of course. What shall it be tonight?"

"It's something I've been working on. It's not finished. I was hoping for some... insight."

Nunzio grinned. "Wonderful! Let me hear it!"

Clarence began his tune. It was a sombre song, and he let out all the feelings he had trapped in his heart over the past month. The hopelessness, the loneliness, the looming threat of having his existence wiped off the face of the planet.

Half way through, he trailed off. He had hit a metaphorical dead-end of his inspiration.

"It is sadder than your usual songs, but it is still a master piece." Nunzio said, and Clarence smiled. He never received compliments like that from his parents. "Do you have the lyrics written down?"

Clarence nodded and handed over the crumpled sheet from his pocket. Nunzio looked over them, barely able to make anything out among all the scribbles and edits.

"Hmm... Have you tried building the next line from something that rhymes with something in the previous line? Let's take a look at some options, hm?"

Clarence slid closer to him and watched him as he wrote out some options.

They had spent an hour discussing Clarence's new piece. Finally, Nunzio yawned and stretched.

"It is about time this old fool heads off to bed. Goodnight, Clarence."

Clarence felt a coil tighten in his chest.

"Stay with me, Nunzio."

"Hm? But it is getting rather late..."

Clarence reached out and grabbed his wrist suddenly. "Please."

The tone of his plea had Nunzio concerned. "Clarence, what is this about?" He sat back down, but Clarence suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, he clicked open the Memento Mortem.

Not time yet.

"Clarence?"

"Let's play another song."

"Clarence..."

"Please?"

His voice had begun to waiver. Nunzio hesitated, before letting out a sigh of defeat. "Alright, Clarence. One more." He played another tune on his fiddle.

Clarence slid closer, pressing his side against Nunzio. He was cold, but that's not why he was trembling.

_Click._

_Clack._

_Click._

Somehow, opening and closing the Memento Mortem over and over wasn't making time pass any faster.

As Nunzio's tune came to an end, the hand Clarence had been staring unblinking at finally snapped into position. Clarence was amazed at the flood of both anxiety and relief that entered his system at the same time.

"Alright, time-"

"Not yet." Clarence grabbed onto his wrist again, eyes not even moving from the pocketwatch.

Nunzio went silent. He was concerned for Clarence in more ways than one, that much was evident on his expression. Regardless, he stayed with the boy for a little while longer.

20 minutes went by as Nunzio tiredly tried to make conversation, but it was getting too much for him. He finally arose, ignoring Clarence's protests.

"No, Clarence. I'm tired. I'm going to bed." He told him, gentle, yet firm. Clarence got up too. He followed him all the way across the deck and to the passenger cabins.

"Goodnight, Nunzio." He said, his voice barely cutting through the ocean winds.

"Goodnight..."

The door closed in his face. Clarence took one last look at the watch, then headed straight down to the cargo hold. He waved to Hok-Seng Lau, the Formosan guard currently standing watch over the room where the chest was stored. He was very much conscious, evidently, and waved back.

Clarence went to bed and lay down.

Tomorrow.

It must be taking place tomorrow instead.

Nichols had heeded his advice after all. That was good... at least Clarence had a plan for that.

However, Nunzio wasn't out of the dark yet.

Sleep eventually came to put an end to Clarence's harrowing thoughts.

\--------

Clarence was on the move.

Eyes on the watch, he headed down for the cargo hold, and approached Hok-Seng Lau. He didn't draw too near, he didn't want to make the guard anxious, but Lau seemed comfortable enough in his presence. He leaned with his back against the door, 

" _(Good evening.)_ " Clarence said. Lau nodded in response. He fidgetted, chewing his cheek as he searched for the words he wanted, but they never came to him. Instead, he stared at Lau intently, then pointed two fingers at his eyes and then to the right.

_Watch yourself,_ he tried to convey. _Beware your right._

Lau furrowed his brow, and glanced to his right, then back, confused. He stood upright and leaned forward to take a clearer peer down the corridor, and when he looked back, Clarence was gone.

He hoped the warning would be enough, but he couldn't rely on Lau alone to stop the nightmare. He had already failed once, and Clarence had to be prepared for it to happen again. As he was coming up to the orlop deck, he conveniently ran into his next goal.

"Oh, there you are." Nunzio said with a smile.

"Let's go up." Clarence didn't hesitate to grab his wrist and start dragging him to the top deck.

"Oh? Uh..." Nunzio followed along. He had hoped the boy wouldn't act as strange as he did last night, but appaently there was no such luck for him. He sighed and didn't argue as he was dragged up to the main deck and back into the cold bite of the night air.

Once at their usual spot at the back of the ship, Clarence let out a held, shaky breath, and paced back and forth to try and burn off some of the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Clarence. Clarence!" Nunzio's call finally made him stop, and Nunzio softened his tone again. "Come here."

Clarence pattered over and sat next to him.

"What is troubling you?"

"Nothing."

For every synonym of doubt in the dictionary there was, none were as powerful as the look on Nunzio's face.

Clarence chewed his lip until he tasted blood.

"Nunzio?"

"Yes?"

"Don't go to the cargo hold."

Nunzio was puzzled to say the least, but no matter how hard he tried to question, Clarence wouldn't open up.

"Please. Just trust me." Clarence pleaded. After a long pause, Nunzio let out a sigh.

"Fine. I won't."

"No matter what?"

"...No matter what."

That hesitation, no matter how short, almost sent Clarence into hysterics. He pleaded at him with his eyes until Nunzio could no longer take the intense staring.

"You worry me, Clarence." He muttered and shook his head.

_Click._

There was that pocketwatch again. Nunzio peered down over Clarence's shoulder, overcome with curiosity. Everything odd about the boy seemed to revolve around that watch.

_Clack._

Clarence looked up at him again and he tried to act as though he hadn't been staring.

"Nunzio, go to bed."

"Eh? Yesterday you kept me up too late, now you try to send me to bed early?"

Clarence rose to his feet. "Yes. Go to bed, and don't come out."

Nunzio could only watch in complete befuddlement as Clarence walked away. But something about the sheer insistence, nay, desperation in his voice had him feeling paranoid. He felt like he should listen.

After carefully watching Nunzio's movements, Clarence lay in hiding under the stairs in front of the captain's cabin. Being small had its advantages- he could easily squeeze into the tight space. He peered at his watch as the big hand- the hour hand, he had figured, clicked into place. Now in the same position as Nunzio's death, only with the day hand one tick further.

He glanced up and almost lept out of his own skin when he saw eyes staring at him from the darkness.

"What are you up to?"

Of course, the helmsmen would have inevitably noticed him. The wheel was right next to him.

"Hush. Get back to work."

The curt response from the usually very polite boy had Dalton reeling. He huffed, but Clarence could feel his suspicious gaze on him. That was fine. He had no intention of moving now.

After several more minutes, trembling in the dark and pondering if anything at all would happen, he finally heard creaks from the stairs.

O'Hagan came up first, followed closely the bastard himself, Edward Nichols.

"Hurry to the boats." Came a hushed order from Nichols. Clarence watched as two other men came up, carrying the Formosan chest between them. Nichols' steward, and the Chinese topman he had played cards with not long ago.

Despite taking away his element of surprise, Nichols evidently still managed to subdue Lau. Clarence was glad he prepared for the worst case scenario.

"Nichols, sir? What's going on?" Dalton asked, already set on edge by Clarence's shifty behaviour. He stepped away from his post at the wheel, only to stammer backwards as he saw O'Hagan raising a spear. "Sir?!"

His cries shattered the silence of the night air as the weapon impaled deep into his thigh bone. Clarence didn't even flinch. Not anymore.

"On your toes, boys!" Galligan urged as he picked up the pace. The stairs above Clarence creaked as they climbed, but he was confident that none would notice him down here in the shadows.

"Hurry it up!" Nichols snapped as his men worked on hauling the stolen loot on board.

Clarence noticed that the scene wasn't the same as the one he was used to. It was quieter. It was swifter.

The Formosans weren't here.

Nichols really took more to heart than he had expected.

He could do nothing as he watched the ensuing scuffle. Lars Linde came running over, only for Nichols to swing his lantern across his skull. Linde fell to his knees, stunned. Behind him, Peter ran up from the gun deck, but Nichols spun. Peter didn't take the hit nearly as well, and he fell splat against the deck. Clarence felt especially bad about not being able to do anything to help, but he had to bide his time. _They_ would all make it out fine.

Once the chest was set and Nichols ensured no more crew were coming, he began to climb up too, ordering the boats to be lowered. Clarence readied himself. He already saw the rigging shifting as a man climbed down.

"Give it u-augh!"

The shove, despite coming from someone as small as Clarence, was enough to topple Timothy Butement right off the railing.

Clarence turned to Nichols, standing at the top of the stairs and staring down at him. He had his gun out, although pointed up. Had he acted a second later, Clarence knew that gun would have gone off and taken Butement's life. Nichols stared down at him. His eyes betrayed no emotion except mild surprise, and Clarence stepped away, unnerved. Was he going to be shot instead?

"Leave the brat be."

The sentence confused Clarence. He then sensed someone behind him and spun, to see Galligan with a lantern raised high. He stumbled back, tripping on the stairs and falling back against them. Thankfully, Galligan never struck. He hurried back up the stairs, past Clarence, who scrambled upright again. The two men climbed on board the lifeboats.

Clarence remembered Butement and his stomach sank. During the chaos, he didn't remember whether or not he had heard a splash. If he fell overboard, then he was as good as gone.

And Clarence would the responsible party.

He rushed to the railing and peered over with a cry. "Mr. Butement?" He leaned over to try and peer through the darkness, but he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard grunts of struggle. Thank the heavens that despite all the changes he had made to the timeline, Butement somehow getting himself tangled up in rope was one thing that remained the same. "Hang in there!" He grabbed the rope and tugged as hard as his little body could manage, but it achieved absolutely nothing. The adult man was far too heavy for Clarence to pull up.

He instead came to the aid of the man still screaming into the air. He dropped onto his knees. "Mr. Dalton, don't worry, you'll live." He told him and pressed his hands against the wound, being careful to keep the spear steady. Dalton only screamed in response.

Footsteps nearing caused Clarence to turn his attention away. Linde had finally recovered from the knock. "Get Dr. Evans." Clarence told him, calm as a clam, and he nodded and ran off.

Clarence stayed with Dalton and did his best to reassure him until Evans arrived, and he stepped aside to let the expert take over. By now, much more of the crew were coming up, and the captain himself came out from his cabin to demand to know what all the noise was about and what the devil was going on.

Clarence ignored all the men gathering around and returned to the railing. He was about to call for help when he saw a hand appear over the edge. He grabbed Butement's arm and tried his very best to help pull him up. He thought he saw a glimpse of a glare in the darkness, but assumed it must have been because of the strain of climbing.

However, once Butement was back on board, he snarled at Clarence, fist raising.

"You little bastard!"

"Eh?"

One punch was all it took.

When he awoke, he wasn't even sure what his name was anymore, and definitely not where he was.

"He'll be fine. Help him down to the surgery."

"Aye."

"And the boys?"

"They'll have headaches for a few days for sure. Look, they're already coming to."

Clarence attempted to blink the fuzziness out of his eyes, but he just couldn't focus his vision. He could hear cries of pain, as well as whole other conversation elsewhere, but he lacked the brain power to focus. Slowly, he urged his body to sit up and held onto his head.

The world began to slot into place like pieces of a puzzle once more. Recollection came back to him. He couldn't even remember the punch itself, but he knew it happened. He saw Wallace, the surgeon's mate looming over him, while Evans was busy aiding the injured down below deck. The orange glow of dawn was peeking over the horizon.

"Is he awake?"

"Barely. Give him a second."

Clarence tried to look up following the sound of Witterel's voice, but tilting his head back only caused the pain to amplify.

"Do you mind explaining yourself, boy?" Witterel growled. Clarence felt like he was in trouble, somehow. But why? All he did was help!

"Nichols... mutinied..." He muttered.

"I know th-"

"And Galligan... O'Hagan, Li Hong, Toporov..." Clarence clicked his fingers, trying to recall that other name.

"I know tha-"

"Oh, N-Niki-kishin."

"Cut that out! And listen to the words coming out of my mouth. What. Is. Your. Involvement?"

Clarence's words were startled away. He gave a fearful glance. "W-what?"

"Timothy is telling me you tried to push him overboard. So I'll ask again. Explain yourself!"

Clarence gulped. Oh, that explained things. Of course, he was the only one who knew Butement was supposed to die here.

"Um... Nichols had his gun... S-sir. I-I was just trying..."

"See? The boy was just trying to save you! And you knocked his lights out!" Clarence heard coming from Linde. Butement just crossed his arms and huffed, although Clarence noticed a flash of guilt on his face. "I witnessed him push Samuel out of the way, the boy is nothing less of a hero! I knew he wouldn't try to kill you."

Witterel only deepened his scowl. "Forgive me for not buying that. What about when you tried to warn me about Nichols? How long have you known about the mutiny?"

"S-since I came on board, sir!" Clarence peeped. In his panic, he thought that honesty would prove his innocence, only to suddenly be hit with the realization that that was too honest! He mentally slapped himself and shook his head. "N-no, I mean, er... N-not long before I tried to warn you. M-my head hurts..."

In a roundabout way, he was lucky he was concussed, nobody batted much of an eye to his odd slip-up.

"How did you find out about it?"

"I... overheard them talking about it."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I tried to! You didn't take me seriously, you wouldn't have believed me!" Clarence argued.

"Had you been more specific instead of being so vague, perhaps I would have!"

In hindsight, Clarence realised he should have gone with that story back then. If only he had come up with the idea at that time! Would it have even got through the stubborn old goat's skull anyway? "I-I... I wasn't... certain about what I heard, I didn't... want to cry wolf." He muttered, coming up with an excuse on the fly.

Witterel stared at him, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned to the crew. "Ready the sails. We're going after them." He took over Dalton's place at the helm. Clarence breathed out a sigh of relief. His story was bought.

"He _does_ know things..."

He glanced at the whisperer. Alexander Booth. He side-eyed the group as Samuel Peters nodded in agreement, and the two of them set off to work.

His story was partially bought, at least.

After a good, long nap, Clarence awoke feeling slightly better. His head was still fuzzy, like he had pins and needles in his brain, yet he fought through the pain to get out of bed. He joined up with the other boys in the communal area. The stewards and midshipmen were alive with chatter. Clarence sat and all eyes were on him.

"Ohh, that bruise!"

"Are you alright?" Davey's concern was better appreciated than Thomas' laughter.

"It hurts." Clarence pouted, then looked to Peter, who was sporting a bump on his head much like his own. "And you? Are you alright? Nichols really hit you hard..."

"I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt! And I'll give that bastard a bump twice as big as this when we catch him again!"

"We'll only catch them if the winds pick up again." A grumble from the other table drew the boys' attentions. Perrott and Davies were the only officers off-shift, and they both seemed in a sour mood. Clarence couldn't blame them, after the betrayal of what they thought was a friend.

As the youth began to chatter about the mutiny again, Clarence subtly caught the attention of Davey and motioned him out. They slipped out together and retreated down to the cargo hold.

"How long have you left on your break?"

"About 10 minutes, I think."

Clarence grinned and grabbed both his wrists. He felt elated. He couldn't believe how smoothly his plan went. Well, aside from the concussion. But he could take that if it meant no kraken attack!

"Let's look for more sticks."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure the mates confiscated them."

"What? Why?"

"To stop your trouble-making, why else?"

"Hoh! Trouble-making?!" Clarence huffed in offence, and Davey let out the cutest laugh. He stopped after a moment as he noticed Clarence's staring. Clarence quickly averted his eyes, but found them trailing back to Davey almost immediately.

"Hey, did you hear about the crew's whispering about ghosts? I think it's because of us. Let's do it again tonight." He grinned devilishly.

Davey smiled. Clarence felt his heart stutter as fingers intertwined with his own, and he looked down at Davey's hand holding his own. 

"You are... so strange. Did that knock on your head do something?"

"No. I feel fine. Better than fine, I feel... w-wonderful." He felt his cheeks starting to burn up and his voice betraying him. It boggled his mind how Davey was able to have such an effect on him with such a simple gesture.

"There's nothing happening, and you act like the sky is falling. Then a mutiny comes along and it's all sunshine and roses for you." He said, bemused.

"It's always sunshine and roses when you're around."

The romantic comment that fell out of Clarence's mouth had them both at a loss for words for a moment. For a second, he was so amazed at how smooth he could be when he shut his brain off that he didn't notice Davey leaning in until their lips were touching.

Clarence closed his eyes and responded. This kiss was so, so much sweeter than their first. He felt every ounce of worry ebb away, his muscles finally relaxing after a month-long struggle. With Davey here, the world was perfect. There was no Nichols. There were no crab riders. There was no kraken.

Slowly, they both pulled away, and Clarence's eyes opened once more. However, the expression of bliss on Davey's face abrubtly changed to horror.

Clarence turned to see Roderick, his eyes flitting back and forth between his two friends. Teeth bared, expression torn between anger and disgust.

"You bastard!" He snarled, eyes locking on Clarence. He took a step closer, and Clarence stumbled back. "What did you do to my friend?! The Davey I knew would never!"

"Roddy, wait!"

Clarence's body locked up at the wrong time and he did nothing against the fist coming his way. The blow knocked him to the ground, and he lay, stunned for a second, before his vision focused again. He didn't black out, but he wished he had. At least he wouldn't be suffering the immediate pain, amplified by the hit he had already taken a few hours before. He put a hand to his nose and felt wetness.

In shock, he continued to fail to act, acting as mere spectator as Roderick and Davey brawled. They both landed several punches on each other before their bosses, hearing all the commotion, came rushing down.

"Cease this behaviour at once!" Davies snapped as he hooked his arms around Davey's to restrain him.

Perrott grabbed his steward at the same time, arms around his chest, lifting him up. The two struggled as Roderick continued to scream and kick his legs about. They both worked on pulling the boys away from one another, and gradually Davey's rage abated. He stopped struggling, but held his glare on Roderick. Davies was wise to keep his hold on him, just in case.

Perrott, however, was having a much tougher time subduing Roderick. "Disgusting bastards! Dirty sodomites!" He howled. Finally, he caught a break in Perrott's grip and slipped free. He charged in for another round, and Davies stepped in between them to hold them apart. Thankfully, Perrott was getting Roderick in another hold after only a few seconds and began to pull him away before he could do too much damage.

Panting, Roderick finally ceased.

"What in the devil has gotten into you both?!" Perrott yelled. By now, more sailors had come down to witness the free entertainment. One noticed Clarence on the ground and crouched beside him to check if he was okay. Clarence gave him a little nod and finally found his footing again, with the help of the sailor.

"Thank you." He whispered, with one hand still on his nose. His headache had increased tenfold and he wanted nothing more than bed.

"Someone go alert the captain." Perrott sighed. "As for you, we'd better have a word." He dragged Roderick away, who glanced over his shoulder, teary-eyed and scowling. Davey only stared ahead as he was led away by Davies.

Clarence, meanwhile, was brought to the surgery to get his nose treated. He thanked the stars it wasn't broken. Right as he was about to be prescribed some pain relief, someone else came in.

"Captain wants him in the lazarette." Said William Wasim.

Clarence's eyes went wide. "What?" He sent a pleading look Dr. Evans' way.

Wallace laughed, his chair; balanced precariously on two legs, threatened to topple. "He finally got sick of your shenanigans, eh?"

Dr. Evans could only shake his head sympathetically at Clarence- there was nothing he could do. No matter how hard Clarence gave puppy eyes, nor the expression of betrayal could do anything.

"I am sorry, Clarence. Come with me easy, won't you?" Wasim also seemed sympathetic. Clarence leapt to his feet.

"B-b-but why!" He stammered, only to be cut off by Evans.

"Fighting it is only going to make things worse. Go along now, Clarence."

Clarence deflated. Staring solemly at his feet, he followed Wasim down to the lazerette. He entered without a peep.

"I've got to get you in those cuffs." Wasim told him. Clarence didn't fight and sat down. As soon as the the cuffs clicked around his wrists, he noticed how loose they were. He tugged on them, and when that failed to achieve anything, he propped his feet at either side of the cuff and pushed. The metal scraped against his skin and crushed his tender little bones, but soon his hand popped free.

Wasim slapped his palm against his face. "Can't you at least wait until I'm gone to try breaking out?!"

Clarence was already working on the other cuff. Giving up, Wasim rose and closed the door behind him. Clarence's elation at his freedom from the cuffs wore out very quickly as he looked up at the locked door. He leapt to his feet and stared at it, and saw Wasim peering through the bars at him. He sent a bitter glare his way, before snapping his eyes away. He eventually heard him leave, the creaking of the floorboards growing ever distant until he was left with silence.

Cuffs or no, he was still nothing more than a caged zoo animal. He slumped against the wall and slid down to the ground. He clicked open the Memento Mortem. It was about the time for the first death to occur on board the stolen lifeboats.

He sighed, head thumping against the wall. Without the Formosans to use the shell, all of the mutineers would meet their end at the claws of the mermaids.

He had saved the crew of the Obra Dinn.

But in the end, he didn't doubt that both he and Davey would be put to death shortly. He buried his face into his arms and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more pics if anyone is interested
> 
> Malo Guéguan
> 
> https://64.media.tumblr.com/de2c44a250e367f03b96da9978500ff9/e3e9a823ab069caf-f8/s1280x1920/9e9f82da54e23e6e0cc2ae528ec5da3c2c216c09.jpg
> 
> Clarence and Malo hanging out :)
> 
> https://64.media.tumblr.com/ac4e437263898addb2c12c0cf117718e/6f0ef102d1a650c4-1a/s1280x1920/31963d99fcf86f4d57ef320bb68fa904b24fa48e.png


End file.
